The  Ways  of  Yale 


msm 


THE  WAYS  OF  YALE 

IN  THE 

CONSULSHIP  OF  PLANCUS 


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of  the  a^tthor^ties." — P.  185. 


THE  WAYS  OF  YALE 
IN  THE  CONSULSHIP 
OF  PLANCUS 


BY 

HENRY  A.  BEERS 

AUTHOR  OF  UA  SUBURBAN  PASTORAL,"  ETC. 

TV 'EW  AND  FURTHER  ENLARGED 

EDITION 
with  two  illustrations 


NEW   YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1910 


In  fallow  college  days,  Tom  Harland, 

We  both  have  known  the  ways  of  Yale, 
And  talked  of  many  a  nigh  and  far  land, 

O'er  many  a  famous  tap  of  ale. 
There  still  they  sing  their  "  Gaudeamus," 

And  see  the  road  to  glory  clear ; 
But  taps  that  in  our  day  were  famous 

Have  given  place  to  Lager  Bier. 

The  Ballad  of  Lager  Bier.— STEDMAN. 


COPYRIGHT,  1895,  1903, 

BY 
HENRY   HOLT  &  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1910, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


THE   QUINN    &    BODEN    CO.  PRESS 
RAH  WAY,    N.  J. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

BLUE  ROSES  OF  ACADEMUS,      .  vii 

•ffn  tfoe  EJa^s  of  tbe  ffence. 
CONSULE  PLANCO,                          .     x 
SOME  CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE 
IN  THE  LAST  QUARTER  CEN- 
TURY,            i 

JUBILEE  ODE — PROLOG  IM   HTM- 

MEL, 18 

THE  THIMBLES,       .       .       .       .22 

CHUMS, 36 

EATING-CLUBS,        ....  100 

GREEK, 133 

A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY,  .  .  145 
LEAVES  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  AN 

UNDERGRADUATE,    .       .       .  174 

•(Recreations  of  tbe  1Ret>  fcettet  Club. 

A  SHADES, 211 

ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA,  .  .  213 
"  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL,"  .  .  228 
BIFTEK  AUX  CHAMPIGNONS,  .  247 
WHAT'S  IN  A  NAME?  .  .  .  252 


252701 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  SPRINGALD  AND  THE  CAUDA 

GALLI, 253 

AMOURS  PASSAGERS,      .      .       .  257 
IMPRESSIONS  OF  A   SUB-FRESH- 
MAN,          259 

THE     ROUT     OF     THE     MONO- 
DRAMATIST,        ....  290 
THE  THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE,  302 
A    PROBLEM    IN    ARITHMETICAL 

PROGRESSION,    .       .       .       .331 

College  tftbgmes. 

THE  DARKE  LAD  YE,     .       .       .  349 
YE  LAYE  OF  YE  WOODPECKORE,  .  353 
A    MERRY    BALLAD    OF    THREE 
SOPHOMORES    AND    A    TOLL- 
WOMAN,         ....  358 
A  FISH  STORY,      ....  364 
IN  LATIN  PROSE  RECITATION,  .  366 
LOST  LETTERS  OF  THE  GREEK  AL- 
PHABET,      368 

A  HOLIDAY  ECLOGUE,   .       .       .  370 

A  MEMORY, 374 

AD  IULUM  ANTONIUM,       .       .  376 

PRESENTATION  DAY,  1868,  .       .  380 

IVY  ODE.    CLASS  DAY,  1869,      .  381 

THE  NEW  YALE.    1871,      .       .  382 

TRIENNIAL  POME,  ....  384 

NUNC  DIMITTIS,  ....  393 


BLUE  ROSES  OF  ACADEMUS. 

So  late  and  long  the  shadows  lie 
Under  the  quadrangle  wall: 

From  such  a  narrow  strip  of  sky 
So  scant  an  hour  the  sunbeams  fall, 
They  hardly  come  to  touch  at  all 

This  cool,  sequestered  corner  where, 
Beside  the  chapel  belfry  tall, 

I  cultivate  my  small  parterre. 

Poor,  sickly  blooms  of  Academe, 
Recluses  of  the  college  close, 

Whose  nun-like  pallor  would  beseem 
The  violet  better  than  the  rose: 
There's  not  a  bud  among  you  blows 

With  scent  or  hue  to  lure  the  bee: 
Only  the  thorn  that  on  you  grows — 

Only  the  thorn  grows  hardily. 

Pale  cloisterers,  have  you  lost  so  soon 

The  way  to  blush?     Do  you  forget 

How  once,    beneath    the    enamored 

moon, 

You  climbed  against  the  parapet, 
To  touch  the  breast  of  Juliet 
Warm  with  a  kiss,  wet  with  a  tear, 

In  gardens  of  the  Capulet, 
Far  south,  my  flowers,  not  here — not 
here? 

vii 


Lenit  albescens  animos  capillus 
Litium  et  rixae  cupidos  protervae  ; 
Non  ego  hoc  ferrem  calidus  juventa 
Consule  Planco. 

Q.  HORATIUS  FLACCUS. 


IN  THE  DAYS  OF 
THE    FENCE 


CONSULE  PLANCO. 

In  Plancus'  days,  when  life  was  slow, 
We  dwelt  within  the  Old  Brick  Row 
Before  Durfee  or  Welch  was  built, 
Or  gilded  youths  in  Vanderbilt 
Looked  down  upon  the  mob  below. 
Then  Freshmen  did  not  use  to  go 
'Most  every  evening  to  the  show  ; 
Quite  inexpensive  was  our  gilt 

In  Plancus'  days. 

We  had  no  football  then,  you  know : 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow, 
No  gore  was  shed,  no  ink  was  spilt, 
No  poet  got  upon  his  stilt 
To  write  these  frenchified  rondeaux, 
In  Plancus'  days. 


THE  WAYS  OF  YALE 


SOME  CHANGES  IN  COL- 
LEGE LIFE  IN  THE  LAST 
QUARTER  CENTURY. 

pHERE  are  stories  of 
men  who  have  left  col- 
lege, halfway  through 
their  course,  and  come  back 
many  years  after  to  pick  up 
the  broken  threads,  drawn  by 
haunting  memories  of  the 
charm  of  student  life.  But, 
rushing  once  more  to  prayers 
at  the  sound  of  the  same  old 
bell,  or  seated  again  in  class- 
room on  the  familiar  benches, 


2  -        CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

though  with  a  new  set  of  faces 
around  them,  they  have  ex- 
perienced a  strange  disap- 
pointment: have  found  that 
identical  conditions  do  not 
bring  back  the  identical  feel- 
ings, and  that,  in  spite  of  all, 
they 

"...  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture." 

Not  so  very  different  from 
this  is  the  experience  of  the  tu- 
tor who  returns  to  the  academic 
life  after  two  or  three  years' 
absence.  Perhaps  he  takes  a 
room  in  the  same  entry  where 
he  lived  in  his  Senior  year  ;  and 
as  he  sits  by  his  window  of  a 
summer  evening ,  and  hears  the 
well-known  strains  of  "  The 
Old  Mountain  Tree,"  or  "  The 
Son  of  a  Gambolier "  rising 


CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.        3 

from  the  fence,  the  impulse 
seizes  him  to  wander  out  to  the 
corner  and  take  his  seat  on  the 
top  rail.  Will  he  not  find  all 
the  old  crowd  there  as  usual  ? 
It  was  only  the  other  evening 
that  they  were  there.  Or  when 
the  college  row  is  lighted  up  at 
night,  how  natural  to  pause 
under  Bob's  window  in  the 
third-story  front  of  South  Mid- 
dle and  call  up,  as  of  yore, 
"Oh,  Bob!"  forgetting  that 
Bob  is  no  longer  within  hail,  and 
that  he  himself  is  "  out  of  it." 
A  comparison  of  student  life 
in  the  sixties  and  in  the  nine- 
ties, by  one  who  had  lived  it  at 
both  eras,  would  be  most  inter- 
esting. The  present  writer  has 
been  so  long  out  of  touch  with 
the  undergraduate  world  that 
all  he  can  do  is  to  compare  his 


4        CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

recollections  of  that  life  as  it 
was  then,  with  his  guess  of 
what  it  may  be  now.  Certain 
changes  in  the  external  or,  so 
to  speak,  institutional  features 
of  the  college  microcosm  are 
obvious  to  anyone  who  will 
contrast  the  Yale  of  to-day 
with  the  Yale  described  by  my 
classmate,  the  "  Graduate  of 
'69,"  in  his  "  Four  Years  at 
Yale."  There  is  the  Wooden 
Spoon,  for  instance,  which  used 
to  cause  so  many  heart-burn- 
ings. That  is  gone,  with  its 
Spoon  Exhibition,  its  Prome- 
nade Concert,  its  Cock  Suppers, 
and  the  rest.  The  idea  of 
deciding  by  vote  who  was  the 
best  fellow,  or  the  most  popu- 
lar man  in  the  class,  was  an 
essentially  vulgar  one,  and  the 
choice  was  seldom  spontaneous, 


CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.        5 

but  was  manipulated  in  the 
interest  of  coalitions  between 
the  Junior  societies. 

I  do  not  know  whether  the 
thing  called  "  Junior  politics," 
or  even  whether  society  politics 
in  general,  exists  nowadays. 
There  was  a  certain  amount  of 
excitement  and  fun  about  it. 
There  were  men  who  devoted 
their  whole  attention  to  it,  and 
who  looked  upon  the  Faculty 
and  the  curriculum  of  study  as 
existing  merely  for  the  sake  of 
the  society  system  and  the  dis- 
tribution of  class  offices  and 
honors.  The  Faculty  kept  up 
a  sort  of  routine  which  imposed 
upon  the  outside  world,  but 
their  true  function  was  to  main- 
tain a  chessboard  upon  which 
the  youthful  politicians  could 
make  their  moves  and  combi- 


6        CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

nations.  What  else  was  the 
college  for?  Here  was  its  real 
field  of  action.  Hie  patet  in- 
genuis  campus.  (We  did  not 
use  to  call  it  "  Campus,"  by  the 
way,  but  "  Yard.")  To  serious 
men,  college  politics,  though 
not  without  amusing  aspects, 
was  childish  nonsense,  and, 
upon  the  whole,  a  nuisance  and 
a  bore. 

The  Spoon  Exhibition,  held 
in  Music  Hall,  was  usually 
a  rather  flat  performance.  A 
much  more  stalwart  affair  was 
the  Thanksgiving  Jubilee  in 
Alumni  Hall,  with  its  sermon, 
its  merrie  minstrelsie,  clog 
dances,  and  fun  galore.  It  was 
a  rough,  hearty,  noisy,  charac- 
teristically Yale  show,  and 
could  it  have  been  kept  within 
bounds,  had  elements  in  it 


CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.       7 

worth  saving.  Attempts  were 
made  to  regulate  it,  and  a  cen- 
sorship committee  attended  the 
rehearsals ;  but  all  was  in 
vain.*  Probably  the  license 
that  distinguished  the  old  Jubi- 
lee was  an  inseparable  part  of 
it,  for  when  it  was  revived  by 
the  New  York  Alumni  for  a 
series  of  years,  the  same  odor 
— not  of  sanctity — still  hung 
about  it. 

Another  institution  that  has 
gone — gone  with  "voice  of 
weeping  heard  and  loud  la- 
ment," and  with  spasmodic  ex- 
periments at  revival  —  is  the 
open  societies.  In  the  days  of 
which  I  write  (1865-69)  these 
were  still  existent,  but  hardly 
alive.  Their  annual  prize  de- 

*  See  Jubilee  Ode — Prolog  im  liimmel, 
p.  10. 


8        CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

bates  were  hotly  contested, 
though  they  were  not  proper- 
ly debates,  but  set  speeches, 
memorized  and  declaimed.  On 
these  occasions  the  halls  and 
staircases  were  crowded,  and 
the  fortunate  winners  were 
borne  off  in  triumph  on  the 
shoulders  of  their  friends  to  ex- 
pend their  prize  money — and 
generally  a  good  deal  more 
than  their  prize  money — in 
little  suppers.  But  the  regular 
weekly  meetings  were  slimly 
attended,  and  a  story  ran  about 
a  certain  Brother-in-Unity,  who, 
fired  by  an  editorial  in  the  Lit. 
on  the  duty  of  rallying  to  the 
support  of  the  open  societies, 
found  his  way  one  Wednesday 
evening  into  Linonia  Hall  and 
made  a  patriotic  speech  about 
the  ancient  glory  of  Brothers, 


CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.        Q 

amid  the  ironical  cheers  of  the 
dozen  Linonians  who  happened 
to  be  present. 

But  space  would  fail  me  to  tell 
of  all  the  customs  that  have 
gone  by  the  board,  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  others  which  have 
changed  the  whole  outward 
face  of  college  society.  I  say 
outward,  for  doubtless  in  es- 
sence the  thing  remains  much 
the  same.  The  most  striking 
feature  of  recent  undergraduate 
life  is  its  intense,  and  perhaps 
slightly  excessive,  devotion  to 
athletic  sports.  In  1865,  the 
only  department  of  athletics  al- 
ready well  developed  was  boat- 
ing. Rugby  football  had  not 
been  introduced,  though  faint 
rumors  had  come  down  to  us 
of  the  old  games  on  the  green 
in  which  the  Sophomores  and 


10      CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

Freshmen  kicked  en  masse,  and 
which  were  put  down  by  the 
Faculty  in  1857.  My-  own 
class,  in  its  Freshman  year,  was 
the  first  to  put  a  baseball  nine 
in  the  field ;  and  I  believe  that 
the  University  nine  was  not 
formed  till  1868.  I  fancy  that 
there  was  something  a  little 
impromptu  about  those  early 
matches,  anyway,  and  that, 
when  a  challenge  was  received 
from  Harvard  or  elsewhere,  a 
nine  was  hastily  extemporized 
to  go  out  to  Hamilton  Park 
and  play  the  visitors. 

Connected  with  this  develop- 
ment of  athletics  is  another 
peculiarity  of  contemporary 
student  life  which  impresses 
the  returning  graduate :  the 
degree,  viz.,  to  which  that  life 
is  organised.  The  number  of 


CHA NGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.       1 1 

clubs  and  organizations  of  all 
kinds  listed  in  a  modern  Ban- 
ner is  something  wonderful : 
glee  clubs,  chess  clubs,  rifle 
clubs,  whist  clubs,  yacht  clubs, 
Yale  orchestras,  Yale  unions, 
University  clubs,  track  athletic 
associations,  banjo  clubs,  tennis 
clubs,  Andover  clubs,  Ohio 
clubs,  Berkeley  societies,  etc., 
etc.;  most  of  them  all  un- 
dreamed of  in  the  simple  struc- 
ture of  undergraduate  life  in  the 
sixties.  There  were  the  secret 
societies,  to  be  sure, — too  many 
of  them, — but  outside  of  these, 
our  amusements,  occupations, 
and  social  life  were  left  to  pur- 
sue their  own  route.  It  some- 
times seems  to  me — I  speak 
under  correction  and  from  an 
outside  point  of  view — but  it 
sometimes  seems  as  if  a  certain 


12       CHANGES  7-V  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

accidental,  spontaneous  charm 
had  gone  out  of  college  life  ;  as 
if  everyone  was  enrolled  in 
some  organization  or  other,  was 
in  training  for  something,  and 
carried  on  his  amusements 
strenuously  and  in  a  corporate 
way.  But  very  likely  this  is  a 
wrong  impression,  the  view  of 
an  onlooker  and  a  laudator  tem- 
poris  acti.  I  am  told  that  even 
the  Sophomore  and  Freshman 
rushes  are  now  organized  and 
take  place  on  the  Grammar 
School  lot  at  a  set  time  and 
under  rules.  Consule  Planco, 
a  rush  was  an  impulsive  and 
unforeseen  thing  and  liable  to 
happen  anywhere  and  any 
time ;  on  Chapel  Street,  in  the 
College  Yard,  in  the  post  office 
or  wherever  a  group  of  Sopho- 
mores encountered  a  group  of 


CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.       13 

Freshmen  and  the  joy  of  battle 
took  possession  of  them.  If 
there  are  to  be  rushes,  of  course 
the  modern  plan  is  much  the 
better.  When  we  wanted  exer- 
cise we  were  very  apt  to  take 
it  in  an  unsystematic  way,  in 
small  walking,  rowing,  and  sail- 
ing parties.  The  gymnasium 
was  largely  given  over  to  Fresh- 
men and  to  men  training  for 
the  crews.  But  every  fair 
Wednesday  and  Saturday  after- 
noon saw  knots  of  men,  from 
four  to  half  a  dozen,  setting 
out  with  their  walking  sticks, 
to  explore  the  country  about 
New  Haven:  Light  House 
Point,  and  the  old  fort,  Lake 
Saltonstall,  Rabbit  Mountain, 
and  the  North  Haven  meadows, 
Cedar  Hill,  Wintergreen  Falls, 
and  all  the  Rocks,  Edgewood, 


14       CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

Maltby  Park,  and  the  west 
shore.  In  Senior  year  walking 
was  combined  with  a  certain 
amount  of  botanizing  and  geolo- 
gizing, and  we  found  a  guide  in 
a  very  pleasant  set  of  papers 
which  Professor  James  D.  Dana 
published,  for  the  direction  of 
student  walkers,  in  the  old  Col- 
lege Courant.  We  used  to  go 
to  the  woods,  as  the  present 
generation  of  undergraduates 
go  to  the  Yale  Field  or  the 
tennis  courts.  There  were 
others,  of  course,  who  spent 
their  holidays  in  billiards  or 
poker,  or  in  talking  college 
politics,  and  some  who  took 
their  degrees  without  ever  go- 
ing so  far  afield  as  East  Rock 
or  the  Judges'  Cave. 

There  was  no  yacht  club  in 
those    days,    but    there    were 


CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.       15 

some  persistent  sailors  in  sum- 
mer term.  Cras  ingens  itera- 
bimus  cequor  was  our  motto, 
and  we  dreamed  of  voyages 
as  far  east  as  Montauk.  But 
our  Hercules*  Pillars  in  that 
direction  always  remained  the 
Thimble  Islands,  where  we 
camped  out  in  that  halcyon 
season  known  as  "  Senior  vaca- 
tion," which  formerly  inter- 
vened between  Presentation 
and  Commencement.  Tem- 
porary, informal  clubs  for 
mixed  social  and  literary  pur- 
poses exist,  I  suppose,  now  as 
they  did  then.  One  such  I 
remember — and  it  is  one  of 
my  pleasantest  memories  of 
college  days  —  which  was 
started  in  Sophomore  year 
and  continued  to  meet,  irreg- 
ularly and  at  convenience,  all 


16       CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE. 

through  the  remainder  of   the 
course. 

There  was  still  a  certain 
roughness  about  college  life  in 
the  late  sixties.  The  era  of 
Bully  clubs,  pow-wows,  burials 
of  Euclid,  town  and  gown  rows, 
had  indeed  gone  by,  and  it  was 
no  longer  thought  good  form 
to  play  pranks  upon  the 
Faculty.  The  annual  burning 
of  the  north  coal  yard  was  a 
survival  of  that  earlier  Pliocene 
age.  I  cannot  determine  how 
far  the  class  spirit  and  the  Yale 
democracy  have  yielded  to 
the  more  comfortable  condi- 
tions of  modern  student  life. 
Probably  men  in  college  spend 
more  money  than  they  used. 
There  was  but  one  man  in  my 
class  who  kept  a  saddle-horse, 
and  none  who  owned  a  yacht 


CHANGES  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.       17 

or  dog-cart.  There  is  no  rea- 
son why  college  life  should  be 
rough  or  unrefined,  but  there 
are  many  reasons  why  it  should 
be  simple  and  plain.  The 
glory  of  youth  is  independent 
of  luxury.  And  it  is  the  pe- 
culiar charm  of  academic  life 
that  its  amusements,  even, 
have,  or  ought  to  have,  an  intel- 
lectual touch  about  them,  a 
constant  reference  to  "  the 
things  of  the  mind/' 


JUBILEE    ODE— PROLOG    IM 
HIMMEL. 

HERE'S  been  no  jubilee  that 

I've  attended, 
But    something    calculated 

to  offend  the  most  fastidious  was 

there : 
No  minstrel  show,  however  watched 

and  tended, 

But  some  bad  joke  had  share — 
Some  grind,  Jew  desperate,  duplicate 

intended, 

Enough  to  raise  the  hair 
Upon    the    oldest    living    graduate's 

head 

(Though — parenthetically  be  it  said — 
I'm  told  the  oldest   living  graduate's 

dead)  : 
Jokes  bad  enough  to  draw  Podsnap- 

per's  curse  on 

18 


JUBILEE  ODE.  19 

The  show,  and  bring  a  blush  to  the 
cheek  of  a  young  person. 

Sometimes,  when  roused  to  spirit  of 
repartee, 

The  end  man  spared  not  in  his  ghoul- 
ish glee, 

Or  age,  or  sex,  or  even  the  Faculty. 

What  should  be  done  ?  They  met. 
They  said  "  Go  to  : 

Let  us  appoint  a  censor  who  shall 
view 

Each  jest  beforehand.  Eke  thereto 
he  shall 

Be  present  at  tJie  merry  rehearsal, 

To  crush  whatever  poison  snake  may 
lurk 

'Neath  flowers  of  wit  ambiguous,  quip 
or  quirk." 

The  judge  hath  paced  into  the  hall, 

Red  as  a  rose  is  he ; 
Nodding  their  heads  before  him  goes 

The  nigger  minstrelsy. 

He  listens  with  a  patient  smile 
Till  all  the  grinds  are  done. 

"  This  seems  indeed  to  me,"  he  says, 
"  To  be  quite  harmless  fun. 


20  JUBILEE  ODE. 

"  But  will  you  please  expound  again 
The  point  of  that  last  pun." 

Then   up  and  spake   the  merry  end 

man, 
"  In  sooth  it  shall  be  done." 

"  Well,  go  ahead,  we'll  sample 
The  remainder  of  the  show, 

Which,  I  repeat,  seems  innocent 
Thus  far,  though  rather  slow." 

So    through    the    programme,    until 

naught   remained, 
Each  doubtful  point  was   questioned 

and  explained. 
Three  hours  went  by — four — five  :  the 

tired  spectator 
Scrawled  o'er  the  whole  his  desperate 

imprimatur 
And  fled  the   scene  ;  and   to  himself 

said  he  : 

"  If  ever  more  I  serve  as  Jubilee 
Committee,  judge,  or  censor,  let   me 

be 

Anathema  :  these  subtle  equivoques, 
These    double-headed,     amphisbaenic 

jokes, 


JUBILEE  ODE.  21 

Unto  a  plain,  blunt  man  are  blacker 
mysteries 

Than  the  conundrums  in  the  Class- 
day  histories 

Are  to  the  victim's  lady  friends :  in 
vain 

They  call  on  Fred  or  Willy  to  explain 

Those  passages  in  his  biography 

Which  lightly  touched,  can  wake  such 
boisterous  glee 

That  the  leaves  tremble  on  the  tall 
elm  tree." 

Thus,  lurking  where  some  traverse 
lent  its  screen, 

Yearly  the  puzzled  censor  might  be 
seen 

Watching  the  jokes  and  wondering 
what  they  meant. 

In  look  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 

Thence  issuing,  with  magisterial 
frown, 

He  stopped  the  sermon,  called  the 
ballet  down, 

Or  withered  with  rebuke  the  Rabe- 
laisian clown. 


THE  THIMBLES. 

flVERYONE  who  has 
been  through  college 
knows  that  the  real  life 
of  the  place  is  not  to  be  found 
in  Commencement  Orations,  or 
Wooden-Spoon  exhibitions,  or 
Freshman  "  rushes  ";  nor  even 
at  Springfield  regattas  and 
Hamilton  Park  matches.  These 
are  only  its  showy  and  boister- 
ous croppings  out,  which  get 
into  the  newspapers  and  form 
the  commonplaces  of  conver- 
sation in  college  society.  The 
genuine  academic  life  is  of  finer, 
quieter,  and  more  enduring 
essence.  It  is  to  be  found  in 


THE   THIMBLES.  23 

the  daily  routine  of  pleasant 
study ;  in  the  life  of  chums ; 
in  the  informal  meetings  of 
small  reading  parties  or  literary 
clubs ;  in  summer  walks  and 
sails ;  and  in  vacation  visits  to 
the  homes  of  classmates.  This 
life  is  barren  of  incident,  and 
yet  its  sameness  is  not  monoto- 
nous. It  is  almost  domestic 
in  its  simplicity,  and  yet  the 
adventurous  spirit  of  youth, 
the  glow  of  early  friendships, 
and  the  intellectual  atmosphere 
which  it  breathes  give  it  the 
charm  of  romance.  Its  appro- 
priate expression  must  be 
sought  in  fiction  and  poetry — 
not  in  books  of  dry,  statistical 
information. 

What  are  the  scenes  and 
the  moments  to  which  a  Yale 
man's  memory  turns  back  most 


24  THE   THIMBLES. 

fondly  when  he  thinks  of  his 
college  days  ?  We  venture  to 
say  that  the  rmell  of  wood- 
smoke  in  his  nostrils,  and  the 
snap  of  hickory  sticks  in  his  ear, 
will  inevitably  bring  up  the 
group  that  sat  one  night  around 
the  old  Franklin  in  South  Mid- 
dle, and  watched  the  firelight 
flicker  on  the  beam  that  sagged 
across  the  low  ceiling.  They 
sat  deep  into  the  night,  and 
read  deeply  in  each  other's  souls, 
and  present  and  future  looked 
as  rosy  as  their  curling  pipe- 
smoke.  How  readily,  under 
such  a  genial  forcing-process> 

"  doth  the  heart  unclose 
Its  formal  calyx  of  pretenses, 
Which  shut  against  rude  day's  offenses, 
And  open  its  shy  midnight  rose  "  ! 

Or   he    will     remember   one 
night  going  into  his  coal-closet 


THE   THIMBLES.  2$ 

with  a  candle,  and  suddenly 
seeing,  whittled  on  the  inside 
of  the  rude  door,  a  name  that 
makes  the  heart  beat.  And, 
setting  down  hiscandle,he  feels 
himself  for  an  instant  the  chum 
of  greatness,  and  the  homely 
room  becomes  "  a  feasting  pres- 
ence full  of  light." 

Recall  that  June  evening 
when  you  loitered  up  Temple 
Street,  in  mingled  moonshine 
and  elm-shadow,  and  in  the 
breath  of  mignonette  from  the 
dusky  gardens,  and  the  sound 
of  ladies'  voices  from  some  un- 
seen piazza,  you  caught  a  sense 
of  the  past — something  from 
Willis  or  "  our  own  Percival," 
and  the  days  of  serenades  and 
sentiment. 

The  scenery  about  New 
Haven — very  various,  and 


36  THE   THIMBLES. 

richly  wooded  for  the  neigh- 
borhood of  so  large  a  town — 
leaves  indelible  impressions  on 
all  college  walkers.  Two  ridges 
or  dykes  of  trap  end  in  the  fine 
precipices  known  as  East  and 
West  Rock,  each  about  two 
miles  from  the  university. 
These  with  their  intermediate 
spurs  look  over  the  plain  in 
which  the  city  lies.  They  are 
covered  with  a  growth  of  red 
cedar  and  juniper.  Past  the 
foot  of  each  flows  a  creek  bor- 
dered by  a  narrow  strip  of  salt 
marsh,  the  hay-stacks  on  which 
have  been  aptly  compared  by 
Dr.  Holmes  to  billiard-balls  ly- 
ing about  on  their  tables.  The 
creeks  run  into  a  harbor  long 
and  narrow,  whose  entrance  is 
guarded  by  a  point  of  rocks, 
jutting  out  boldly  from  the 


THE  THIMBLES.  27 

groves  behind  and  carrying  a 
lighthouse  on  its  back.  When 
the  day  is  clear,  you  can  see 
from  East  Rock  the  white  caps 
beyond  the  Light,  and  across 
the  Sound  the  line  of  the  Long 
Island  sand  bluffs.  How  many 
a  September  saunter  we  remem- 
ber over  the  woody  Fair  Haven 
hills  when  the  barberries  were 
turning  red !  How  many  a 
draught  of  the  small,  small  beer 
at  the  cheerful  toll-gate  on  the 
Woodbridge  Pike  !  How  many 
a  lazy  spring  day  whittle  on  the 
beach  at  Morris  Cove,  under 
the  row  of  half-dead  Lombardy 
poplars,  watching  the  ripples 
curling  in  over  the  sand  !  Here 
the  vernal  impulse  would  seize 
us,  prompting  Homeric  voyages 
to  the  Thimbles,  and  making  us 
impatient  for  the  return  of  those 


28  THE    THIMBLES. 

summer  midnights  when,  in  the 
deadest  of  calms,  we  should 
float  up  the  bay  on  a  flood-tide 
toward  "  White's/'  trying  to 
discover  by  the  phosphores- 
cence in  the  wake,  and  by  our 
scarcely  receding  cigar-smoke 
as  it  rose  to  the  stars,  whether 
our  rudder  was  making  any 
progress  through  the  water. 

The  Thimbles  used  to  be  a 
favorite  haunt.  These  are  a 
group  of  forty  islands  in  the 
Sound,  some  ten  miles  east  of 
the  Light.  They  were  a 
famous  stamping-ground  of 
Captain  Kidd,  and  are  fairly 
classic  with  traditions  of  that 
secretive  buccaneer.  A  bayou 
opening  by  a  narrow  passage 
into  High  Island  is  called 
Kidd's  Harbor.  There,  says 
the  legend,  he  lay  perdu  while 


THE   THIMBLES.  29 

His  Majesty's  cruisers  sailed 
past  the  entrance.  One  of 
those  oval  depressions  in  the 
rocks,  known  to  geologists  as 
"  pot-holes,"  is  called  Kidd's 
Punch  Bowl.  A  rusty  iron  ring 
and  staple  in  the  cliff  is  sup- 
posed to  have  held  the  cable  of 
his  galley.  On  Money  Island 
luxuriant  crops  of  the  Stinking 
Herb  Robert  have  sprung  up  in 
spots  even  recently  dug  over  by 
treasure-seekers. 

The  very  flora  of  the  Thimbles 
is  unique  and  tropically  weird. 
The  cat-tails  in  the  brackish 
marshes  grow  to  a  monstrous 
size  ;  so  do  the  joints  of  the 
prickly-pear  cactus,  whose  yel- 
low blossoms  bask  over  the 
sunny  rocks  where  we  used  to 
race  young  sand-snipe.  I  won- 
der if  that  old  pair  of  boots 


30  THE  THIMBLES. 

which  Punderson  left  on  the 
top  of  Gull  Rock  as  a  sacrifice 
to  the  Venti  are  standing  there 
yet.  They  were  the  last  thing 
we  saw,  boldly  outlined  against 
the  crimson  eastern  sky,  on  the 
morning  when  we  said  good- 
by  to  the  Thimbles. 

Oh,  messmates  of  the  Triton 
and  the  Eddy !  most  of  us  are 
a  good  many  miles  inland  now. 
Some  of  us  have  trifled  with 
our  digestions  ;  all  of  us,  doubt- 
less, have  lost  the  unquestion- 
ing appetites  of  early  youth. 
But  shall  we  ever  forget  ye, 
noctes  canczque  deumf  For- 
get ye,  nectar  and  ambrosia, 
coffee  and  clam-chowder,  blue- 
fish  and  lobster,  partaken  of  at 
every  point  of  that  well-known 
coast ;  at  Half  Mile  Island  and 
Branford  Point ;  at  Double 


THE    THIMBLES.  3* 

Beach  and  Pine  Orchard  ;  at 
Dickerman's  and  at  Stony 
Creek  ?  And  where  not  ? 

The  following,  which  was 
written  in  those  lotus-eating 
days,  may  or  may  not  describe 
a  true  occurrence.  But — well, 
strange  things  have  happened 
at  the  Thimbles. 

THE  MERMAID'S  GLASS. 

'Twas  down  among  the  Thimble  Isles, 
That  strew  for  many  liquid  miles 
The  waters  of  Long  Island  Sound. 
Our  yacht  lay  in  a  cove  ;  around 
The  rocky  isles  with  cedars  green 
And  channels  winding  in  between  ; 
And  here  a  low,  black  reef  was  spread, 
And  there  a  sunken  "  nigger-head  " 
Dimpled  the  surface  of  the  tide. 
From  one  tall  island's  cliffy  side 
We  heard  the  shaggy  goats  that  fed. 
The  gulls  wheeled  screaming  overhead 
Or  settled  in  a  snowy  flock 
Far  out  upon  the  lonely  rock 


32  THE  THIMBLES. 

Which,  like  a  pillar,  seemed  to  show 
Some  drowned  acropolis  below. 
Meanwhile,  in  the  warm  sea  about, 
With  many  a  plunge  and  jolly  shout, 
Our  crew  enjoyed  their  morning  bath. 
The  hairy  skipper  in  his  wrath 
Lay  cursing  on  the  gunwale's  rim  ; 
He  loved  a  dip,  but  could  not  swim  ; 
So,  now  and  then  with  plank  afloat, 
He'd  struggle  feebly  round  the  boat 
And  o'er  the  side  climb  puffing  in, 
Scraping  wide  areas  off  his  skin, 
Then  lie  and  sun  each  hirsute  limb 
Once  more  upon  the  gunwale's  rim, 
And  shout,  with  curses  unavailing  : 
' '  Come   out !      There's   wind  :    let's   do 

some  sailing  !  " 

A  palm-leaf  hat,  that  here  and  there 
Bobbed  on  the  water,  showed  him  where 
Some  venturous  swimmer,  outward  bound, 
Escaped  beyond  his  voice's  sound. 
All  heedless  of  their  skipper's  call, 
One  group  fought  for  the  upset  yawl. 
The  conqueror  sat  astride  the  keel 
And  deftly  pounded  with  his  heel 
The  hands  that  clutched  his  citadel, 
Which  showed — at  distance — like  the  shell 
Round  which,  unseen,  the  naiad  train 
Sport  naked  in  the  middle  main. 


THE    THIMBLES.  33 

Myself  had  drifted  far  away, 
Meanwhile,  from  where  the  sail-boat  lay, 
Till  all  unbroken  I  coulc*  "lear 
The  waves'  low  whisper  m  my  ear, 
And  at  the  level  of  mine  eye 
The  blue  vibration  met  the  sky. 
Sometimes  upon  my  back  I  lay 
And    watched   the    clouds,  while   I   and 

they 

Were  wafted  effortless  along — 
Sudden  I  seemed  to  hear  a  song  : 
Yet  not  a  song,  but  some  weird  strain 
As  though  the  inarticulate  main 
Had  found  a  voice  whose  human  tone 
Interpreted  its  own  dull  moan  ; 
Its  foamy  hiss  ;  its  surfy  roar  ; 
Its  gentle  lapping  on  the  shore  ; 
Its  noise  of  subterranean  waves 
That  grumble  in  the  sea-cliff  caves  ; 
Its  whish  among  the  drifting  miles 
Of  gulf-wind  from  the  Indian  Isles — 
All — all  the  harmonies  were  there 
Which  ocean  makes  with  earth  or  air. 
Turning  I  saw  a  sunken  ledge 
Bared  by  the  ebb,  along  whose  edge 
The  matted  sea-weed  dripped  :  thereon, 
Betwixt  the  dazzle  of  the  sun 
And  the  blue  shimmer  of  the  sea, 
I  saw — or  else  I  seemed  to  see — 


34  THE   THIMBLES. 

A  mermaid,  crooning  a  wild  song  ; 
Combing  with  arm  uplifted  long 
The  hair  that  shed  its  meshes  black 
Down  the  slope  whiteness  of  her  back. 
She  held  a  mirror  in  her  hand, 
Wherein  she  viewed  sky,  sea  and  land — 
Her  beauty's  background  and  its  frame. 
But  now,  as  toward  the  rock  I  came, 
All  suddenly  across  the  glass 
Some  startling  image  seemed  to  pass ; 
For  her  song  rose  into  a  scream, 
Over  her  shoulders  one  swift  gleam 
Of  eyes  unearthly  fell  on  me, 
And,  'twixt  the  flashing  of  the  sea 
And  the  blind  dazzle  of  the  sun, 
I  saw  the  rock,  but  thereupon 
She  sat  no  longer  'gainst  the  blue  ; 
Only  across  the  reef  there  flew 
One  snow-white  tern  and  vanished  too. 
But,  coasting  that  lone  island  round, 
Among  the  slippery  kelp  I  found 
A  little  oval  glass  that  lay 
Upturned  and  flashing  in  the  ray 
Of  the  down-looking  sun.     Thereto 
With  scarce  believing  eyes  I  drew 
And  took  it  captive. 

A  while  there 
I  rested  in  the  mermaid's  lair, 


THE   THIMBLES.  35 

And  felt  the  merry  breeze  that  blew 
And  watched  the  sharpies  as  they  flew, 
And  snuffed  the  sea's  breath  thick  with 

brine, 
And  basked    me     in    the    sun's     warm 

shine ; 

Then  with  my  prize  I  made  my  way 
Once  more  to  where  the  sail-boat  lay. 
I  kept  the  secret  and  the  glass  ; 
By  day  across  its  surface  pass 
The  transient  shapes  of  common  things 
Which  chance  within  its  oval  brings. 
But  when  at  night  I  strive  to  sound 
The  darkness  of  its  face  profound, 
Again  I  seem  to  hear  the  breeze 
That  curls  the  waves  on  summer  seas  ; 
I  see  the  isles  with  cedars  green  ; 
The  channels  winding  in  between  ; 
The  coves  with  beaches  of  white  sand  ; 
The  reefs  where  warning  spindles  stand  ; 
And,  through  the  multitudinous  shimmer 
Of  waves  and  sun,  again  the  glimmer 
Of  eyes  unearthly  falls  on  me, 
Deep  with  the  mystery  of  the  sea. 


CHUMS. 

1HERE  is  often  a  tender- 
ness beyond  common 
friendship  in  the  life  of 
college  chums  ;  a  domestic  and 
almost  conjugal  relation  springs 
from  their  little  housekeeping. 
Yet  chumlock,  like  wedlock, 
is  a  lottery.  I  even  knew  a 
Junior  whose  experience  had 
been  so  unlucky  that  at  last,  in 
a  fit  of  cynical  desperation,  he 
advertised  for  a  roommate. 
The  advertisement  was  in- 
serted under  "  Matrimonial "  in 
the  College  Courant,  and  bul- 
letined in  the  university  drug- 
store. It  was  answered ;  but 
36 


CHUMS.  37 

the  saying  about  college  was 
that  Robinson  had  advertised 
for  a  chum  in  an  apothecary's 
shop  and  had  got  a////. 

My  Freshman  chum  was 
from  Illinois,  though  there  was 
nothing  about  him  to  suggest 
the  broad  prairies  of  the  West. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  nig- 
gling, anxious,  near-sighted, 
yet  absent-minded  withal — so 
absent-minded,  in  fact,  that 
once  when  he  started  to  throw 
a  suit  of  clothes  into  his  bureau 
drawer  and  at  the  same  instant 
to  spit  in  the  fire,  he  spat  in  the 
drawer  and  threw  the  clothes  in 
the  fire.  He  kept  a  journal,  to 
improve  what  he  was  pleased 
to  call  his  "style."  I  used  to 
read  selections  from  it  to  class- 
mates who  happened  to  drop 
in  while  he  was  out,  and  it 


38  CHUMS. 

never  failed  to  entertain  the 
company.  His  views  of  col- 
lege life  had  been  formed  from 
a  reading  of  that  valuable 
treatise,  Todd's  "  Student's 
Manual."  He  was  deeply  im- 
pressed by  the  necessity  of  ris- 
ing at  6  A.  M.  to  prepare  the 
morning  lesson,  and  had  bought 
an  alarm-clock  to  call  him  early. 
There  was  always  something 
irregular  about  the  perform 
ances  of  this  timepiece.  On 
going  to  bed  he  would  set  the 
alarm  for  six.  At  first  it  used 
to  go  off  at  midnight ;  but  he 
rectified  this  with  such  success 
that  it  declined  to  go  off  at  all. 
He  generally  awoke  of  his  own 
accord  a  little  before  six,  and 
waited  for  the  alarm  to  strike. 
Then,  noticing  that  it  was  past 
the  hour,  he  would  get  up  and 


CHUMS.  39 

set  it  off  himself,  and,  having 
thus  discharged  his  duty  to  the 
faithful  monitor,  return  to  bed 
and  sleep  till  the  seven  o'clock 
prayer-bell  rang.  He  was  so 
near-sighted  that  without  his 
glasses,  which  we  used  some- 
times to  secrete,  he  was  as 
helpless  as  the  Phorcydes  when 
their  one  eye  had  been  bor- 
rowed by  a  neighbor.  The 
bridge  of  his  nose  being  thin, 
he  was  torn  in  his  mind  be- 
tween deciduous  glasses,  with 
limber  springs,  which  he  was 
always  shedding,  and  glasses 
with  stiff  springs  that  pinched 
his  nose  as  in  a  vise  and  grad- 
ually wore  it  away  till  it  hung 
by  a  thread.  His  classmates, 
with  that  delicate  consideration 
for  one  another's  infirmities 
which  we  showed  in  the  con- 


40  CHUMS. 

sulship  of  Plancus,  called  him 
"  Lippus,"  or  "  Moon-Smeller." 
But  he  was  of  a  self-complacent 
turn,  and  defended  his  position 
by  an  article  in  the  Lit.,  en- 
titled "  On  tho  Disadvantages 
arising  from  not  being  Near- 
Sighted,"  which  was  greeted 
with  much  derision. 

We  had  obtained,  by  special 
favor,  an  apartment  in  Old 
Divinity,  half  of  which  build- 
ing had  already  been  torn 
down  to  make  room  for  the 
foundation  of  Durfee.  The 
other  half  was  allowed  to 
stand  for  a  while  for  the 
accommodation  of  its  lodgers. 
The  north  wall  of  the  bed- 
rooms in  our  section,  however, 
had  been  cut  away,  so  that, 
from  Elm  Street,  Divinity 
showed  a  raw  end,  with  ampu- 


CHUMS.  41 

tated  timbers  sticking  out  in 
the  air,  ragged  edges  of  brick 
walls  and  lath-and-plaster  parti- 
tions, and  tiers  of  interesting 
interiors  exposed,  like  cuts  in 
old  editions  of  "  Le  Diable 
Boiteux,"  representing  the 
stones  of  houses  in  Madrid 
laid  open  to  the  eyes  of  Asmo- 
deus  and  his  pupil.  The 
modest  tenants  of  the  college, 
of  course,  brought  their  bed- 
room furniture  into  their 
studies,  and  used  their  bisected 
dormitories  only  as  balconies, 
sitting  out  there  in  the  summer 
evenings  and  holding  little 
receptions  of  friends,  who 
came  to  smoke  a  cigar  ^  la  belle 
e'toile  and  survey  the  curious 
state  of  the  premises.  I  per- 
suaded my  chum  to  move  his 
bed  inside,  to  sleep  and  even 


42  CHUMS. 

to  bathe  in  the  study,  but  he 
obstinately  refused  to  bring  in 
the  rest  of  his  chamber-set. 
Accordingly,  passers-by  on 
Elm  Street  were  daily  refreshed 
by  the  prospect  of  a  row  of 
trousers,  coats,  night-shirts, 
etc.,  hung  upon  the  outer  wall; 
and  every  morning,  about  seven, 
a  mob  of  mechanics  and  shop- 
girls collected  to  witness  my 
chum  perform  his  toilet  in 
blank  unconsciousness  that  he 
was  become  a  hissing  and  a 
reproach.  As  he  gauged 
others'  vision  by  his  own,  he 
always  maintained,  when  I  re- 
monstrated with  him,  that  no 
one  could  see  him  so  far  away 
as  Elm  Street.  At  last  a  note 
from  the  Faculty  obliged  him 
to  withdraw  his  effects  into 
"  the  estres  of  the  grisly  place," 


CHUMS.  43 

and  to  leave  nothing  for  the 
public  gaze  beyond  a  row  of 
hooks,  a  few  chairs,  and  the 
outside  of  the  study  door. 

This  chum  was  a  cloth-shoe 
kind  of  man.  There  was  a 
faint  odor  of  "  Brown's  Bron- 
chial Troches "  always  about 
him.  He  kept  an  account  of 
his  expenditures  in  a  blank- 
book,  containing  such  entries 
as  "April  19,  spent  nine  cents 
for  postage-stamps ;  ditto,  six 
cents  horse-car  fare  to  East 
Rock ;  ditto  20,  gave  two  cents 
to  hand-organ  man,"  etc.,  etc. 
He  brushed  his  preposterous 
clothes  assiduously.  In  winter 
he  wore  a  red  worsted  tippet 
and  a  cap  with  a  fur  button  on 
top.  If  the  ground  was  wet, 
he  heedfully  turned  up  his 
trousers  about  the  ankle.  If  it 


44  CHUMS. 

threatened  snow,  he  carried  an 
umbrella  tied  about  the  waist 
with  a  shoe-string.  When  I 
watched  the  figure  of  my  chum 
thus  equipped  moving  slowly 
along  in  front  of  the  colleges, 
there  was  something  so  exas- 
perating about  it  that  I  could 
hardly  keep  from  throwing 
things  at  him. 

A  very  different  person  was 
my  roommate  of  Sophomore 
year.  His  name  was  Rushton, 
and  he  first  endeared  himself 
to  me  by  borrowing  my  tattered 
copy  of  Arnold's  "  Greek  Prose 
Composition,"  carrying  it  off 
to  recitation,  and  bringing  me 
back  in  its  stead  a  clean  copy 
belonging  to  a  man  in  his  divi- 
sion, named  Fitch.  On  the 
fly-leaf,  right  under  Fitch's 
sign  manual,  Rushton  had 


CHUMS.  45 

written  a  graceful  little  dedica- 
tion in  verse,  beginning : 

11  This  book  was  once  the  book  of  Fitch, 
From  out  the  mazy  depths  of  which 
He  fished  most  sweet  and  ancient  Greek, 
And  made  it,  dead,  alive  to  speak." 

Such  useful  qualities  in  a 
chum  were  not  to  be  over- 
looked, and  I  at  once  proposed 
and  was  accepted.  I  may  say 
here  that  personal  property  in 
text-books  was  a  right  unrec- 
ognized consule  Planco.  There 
was  a  beautiful  community  in 
the  aids  and  appliances  of 
learning,  a  genuine  republic  of 
letters.  It  \ras  rare  to  find  a 
man  with  a  text-book  in  his 
possession  which  had  his  own 
name  on  it.  I  have  bought  of 
the  unblushing  Hoadley — the 
keeper  of  the  college  bookstore 


46  CHUMS. 

— the  same  books  several  times 
over ;  books  which  I  recognized 
as  formerly  mine,  but  which 
had  strayed  back  in  some  way 
to  their  fountain-head.  Apro- 
pos of  this,  I  find  the  follow- 
ing entry  in  the  records  of  the 
Red  Letter  Club,  in  the  hand- 
writing of  one  of  our  neighbors: 
"  Last  Saturday  afternoon,  B. 
and  R.  had  another  lucrative 
vendue  of  books  which  careless 
parties  have  left  in  their  room. 
I  was  myself  made  to  pay  fifty 
cents  for  a  wretched  old  Ger- 
man grammar  which,  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe,  be- 
longed to  Campbell."  From 
the  proceeds  of  these  auction- 
sales  was  formed  a  sinking  fund 
devoted  to  the  purchase  of 
rabbits  and  ale.  In  justice  to 
ourselves,  it  should  be  said  that 


CHUMS.  47 

we  sometimes  invited  the — 
alleged — former  owners  of  the 
books  to  share  the  feast  with 
us.  This  imperfect  develop- 
ment of  the  institution  of 
private  ownership  extended 
even  to  articles  of  clothing. 
There  were  about  a  dozen 
dress  suits  in  the  class,  and  it 
was  found  on  trial  that  they 
would  fit  everyone  equally 
well.  But  my  chum  often 
complained,  while  making  his 
toilet  of  a  morning,  that  I 
bought  my  collars  too  small 
for  his  neck.  When  "  the 
galled  jade/*  as  we  called  our 
laundress,  brought  home  our 
week's  washing,  there  was  al- 
ways a  pleasing  excitement  in 
watching  her  unload  her  bas- 
ket. "  Chum,  look  over  the 
clean  filth,"  Rushton  would 


48  CHUMS. 

call  out  from  the  lounge,  "  and 
see  if  there's  anything  new. 
I  hope  she  put  in  some  of 
Harding's  handkerchiefs :  I 
like  them  better  than  Blake's, 
and  Hubbard's  are  about 
played  out." 

We  began  housekeeping 
with  five  chairs.  These  were 
soon  reduced  to  two,  and  then 
to  one.  My  chum  did  not  sit 
in  so  many  chairs  at  once  as 
Edward  Everett's  roommate 
is  said  to  have  done.  Still,  to 
persons  of  a  sedf  /itary  habit, 
seats  of  some  kind  are  almost 
a  necessity;  and  it  became  a 
question  how  we  were  to  re- 
place ours.  Presentation  Day 
was  our  great  annual  oppor- 
tunity ;  for  then  numbers  of 
chairs  were  taken  out  into  the 
entries  and  the  yard,  for  the 


CHUMS.  49 

ladies  to  sit  in  during  the  read- 
ing of  class-histories  ;  and,  after 
the  assembly  rose  and  followed 
the  procession  to  the  library  to 
witness  the  planting  of  the  ivy, 
the  frugal  householder  who 
was  on  the  lookout  for  chairs 
could  get  a  very  good  assort- 
ment to  start  the  new  year 
with.  But  Presentation  was 
still  far  distant  when  our  last 
chair  gave  out.  In  this  strait 
we  hinted  to  our  sweep  that 
there  were  large  deposits  of 
chairs  stored  about  college — 
in  the  cellar  of  South,  e.  g. — 
which  at  present  were  merely 
matter  out  of  place,  and  that 
he  would  deserve  well  of  his 
country  who  should  put  some 
of  them  where  they  would  do 
the  most  good.  The  hint  was 
enough.  One  night  we  were 


50  CHUMS. 

awakened  by  a  low,  chuckling 
sound,  and  by  the  dim  fire- 
light in  our  outer  room  we  dis- 
cerned a  Senegambian  proces- 
sion, each  member  of  which 
carried  a  pair  of  chairs,  which 
he  stood  softly  upon  their  feet 
and  then  withdrew.  It  was 
all  like  a  dream ;  but  next 
morning  there  the  chairs  were, 
in  wood  and  cane.  It  was 
perhaps  in  part  the  knowledge 
of  this  guilty  secret  which  kept 
us  ever  after  in  thraldom  to 
our  aged  sweep.  He  used  to 
chuckle  gently,  as  he  dusted 
the  ill-gotten  things,  and  say, 
with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
"  This  chair  gettin'  pretty 
rickety.  Good  deal  like  d'ole 
man:  won't  las'  much  longer." 
But,  indeed,  my  chum  and 
myself,  being  both  afflicted 


CHUMS.  51 

with  moral  cowardice,  were 
shamefully  bullied  by  all  our 
employees.  The  "  galled  jade  " 
so  wrought  upon  our  feelings  by 
her  widowed  state  and  by  the 
two  small  orphans  who  some- 
times came  with  her  of  a  Mon- 
day and  lurked  bashfully  in 
the  crack  of  the  door,  that  we 
paid  our  wash  bills  without  a 
murmur,  and  without  the  heart 
to  mention  the  disappearance 
of  that  long  caravan  of  shirts 
and  cuffs  which  she  had  burned, 
lacerated,  and  abstracted  at 
various  times.  Our  sweep,  of 
whom  we  stood  in  the  most 
terror,  was  a  smooth  old  swin- 
dler, with  a  molasses-candy 
complexion  and  great  elastic- 
ity of  conscience.  Every  now 
and  then  he  would  vanish  for 
a  week,  leaving  us  to  make 


52  CHUMS. 

the  fire  and  fetch  the  water. 
Under  the  pressure  of  these 
chores,  desperation  brought  a 
kind  of  boldness. 

"  Rushton,"  I  would  say, 
"  you  have  got  to  bully  White 
for  this  when  he  comes  back." 

"  No,  chum  ;  you  bully  him. 
I'm  afraid." 

"  So  am  I  afraid." 

"  Well,  let's  flip  up  a  cent  for 
it." 

"No,  sir:  it's  your  turn.  I 
did  it  last  time." 

"  The  deuce  you  did !  I 
heard  what  you  said  to  him. 
Do  you  call  that  bullying  ?  " 

"Well,  then,  we'll  both  do 
it." 

So,  when  our  coffee-colored 
tyrant  appeared  at  the  end  of 
the  week,  with  an  obsequious 
face,  but  limping  and  groaning 


CHUMS.  53 

aloud,  as  if  in  pain,  I  would 
commence,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  "  Well,  White,  we  haven't 
seen  you  for  quite  a  while/" 

"  No,  sah,"  he  would  answer, 
with  a  reproachful  look ;  "  d'ole 
man  'mos'  lef  you  for  good  dis 
time.  Started  to  get  out  of 
bed  las*  Monc'ay  mornin',  and 
d'lumbago  took  me  awful  bad. 
Haint  set  foot  to  de  floor  sence. 
Ole  man  had  a  mighty  narrow 
shave  of  it  dis  time.  Wife  shes 
been  sick,  too :  got  her  ole 
complaint — twistin'  of  de  long 
bowel,  she  calls  it.  'Mos'  as 
bad  as  d'lumbago  'self." 

In  face  of  such  accumulated 
miseries  our  stern  intent  dis- 
solved, and,  as  neither  of  us 
evergot  courage  to  dismiss  him, 
things  went  on  as  before.  We 
afterward  found  out  that  our 


54  CHUMS. 

sweep  was  an  energetic  exhorter 
at  "  nigger  union."  It  used  to 
be  customary  for  squads  of 
students  to  visit  that  house  of 
worship  on  Sunday  evenings — 
not,  it  must  be  confessed,  in  an 
entirely  devotional  spirit.  On 
one  such  occasion,  our  sweep 
having  been  absent  from  his 
duties  several  days,  presumably 
tossing  upon  a  bed  of  pain,  we 
were  surprised  to  see  him  in  the 
pulpit,  sustained  on  either  side 
by  a  sturdy  deacon,  while  he 
called  sinners  to  repentance 
with  an  expenditure  of  horse- 
power that  would  have  sufficed, 
if  applied  along  the  line  of  his 
work,  to  black  our  boots  for  a 
week  and  to  carry  a  hogshead 
of  water  from  the  south  pump 
to  our  bedroom.  Whether  he 
recognized  us  in  the  congrega- 


CHUMS.  55 

tion  we  never  knew.     He  cer- 
tainly did  not  change  color. 

One  of  the  fellest  destroyers 
of  chairs  was  a  classmate  and 
frequent  visitor,  whom  we  called 
Thersites.  He  was  a  small, 
light  man,  and  it  seemed  in* 
credible  that  he  should  break 
so  many  chairs  in  a  term.  But 
it  was  his  emphasis  that  did  it, 
rather  than  his  weight.  He 
used  the  chairs  as  instruments 
for  expressing  that  loathing  and 
contempt  for  most  of  the  class 
of  '69  which  he  could  only  im- 
perfectly utter  in  words.  "  Ye 
gods  !  "  he  would  shout,  at  the 
mention  of  some  classmate  who, 
having  recently  taken  a  prize 
in  Linonia  prize-debate,  was 
spoken  of  as  a  sure  man  for 
a  Lit.  editorship  next  year; 
"  Dusenbury  a  Lit.  editor ! 


56  CHUMS. 

One  of  Nature's  feeble  men ! 
A  microcephalous  idiot !  An 
ass  and  the  foal  of  an  ass ! 
Rotten  pumpkin  is  granite  to 
Dusenbury !  "  And  crack  would 
go  a  chair. 

"  Look  out,  Billy !  "  we  would 
remonstrate.  "Calm  yourself; 
calm  yourself.  There  are  worse 
men  in  the  world  than  poor 
Dusenbury." 

"  Hang  your  old  chair  !  Oh, 
you  don't  suffer  from  these 
asses  as  I  do.  I  tell  you,  the 
thought  of  them  is  actual  phys- 
ical pain  to  me/* 

And,  abandoning  the  wreck 
of  the  chair,  he  would  grovel 
on  the  floor  and  groan  aloud. 
Where  art  thou,  oh,  Thersites, 
kindest-hearted  of  misan- 
thropes ?  Whither  in  this  asi- 
nine world  hast  thou  wandered  ? 


CHUMS.  57 

I   would  thou  wert    even  now 
before  me : 

'*  That   I  might  hear  thee    call  great 

Caesar  ass 
Unpolicied." 

For  Thersitcs  was  no  respecter 
of  persons. 

Our  stove  was  a  grate  whose 
modest  dimensions  gave  no 
token  of  an  appetite  so  abnor- 
mal that  Rushton  declared  it 
had  a  tape-worm.  When  well 
fed  it  gave  out  too  much 
heat — became,  in  fact,  as  my 
chum  complained,  "  a  young 
hell  on  legs";  and  when  we 
sat  around  it  discussing  the- 
ology on  Sunday  evenings,  the 
Lares  and  Penates  seemed  to 
dance  visibly  upon  the  minia- 
ture iron  hearth,  like  imps 
before  the  threshold  of  their 


58  CHUMS. 

home  of  pain.  When  times 
were  flush,  we  glutted  its  maw 
with  the  best  of  Lehigh ;  but 
during  the  third  quarter  of  a 
term  there  comes  a  slack  time 
in  college  finances,  when  it  is 
impossible  to  borrow  and  hard 
to  get  tick.  Then  we  were 
driven  to  fill  the  vacuum  in  our 
coal-bin  by  witty  expedients. 
First  we  consumed  spare 
articles  of  furniture,  portions 
of  the  college  fence,  etc.  At 
last  we  had  recourse  to  the 
partitions  of  our  coal-closet. 
As  our  neighbors  practiced 
similar  economies,  postern 
gates  and  intricate  passages 
from  room  to  room  were 
opened  through  the  walls, 
which  were  often  convenient 
when  a  sudden  attack  by  the 
Faculty  on  one  entry  made  it 


CHUMS.  59 

prudent  to  escape  into  another. 
The  chief  objection  to  the 
planking  of  our  coal-closets, 
considered  as  fuel,  was  the 
length  of  the  timbers.  We 
had  no  means  of  reducing 
these  to  the  right  size  except 
by  putting  the  ends  of  the 
beams  in  the  stove  and  resting 
the  other  ends  on  a  semicircle 
of  chairs  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  As  the  boards  burned 
down,  we  shoved  them  farther 
in,  and  the  half-circle  of  chairs, 
with  a  constantly  diminishing 
radius,  approached  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  stove,  until  the 
planks  reached  a  shortness  that 
enabled  them  to  go  into  the 
grate  ;  and  then  we  occupied  the 
chairs  ourselves  and  pantingly 
inhaled  the  smoke  with  which 
this  process  had  filled  the  room. 


60  CHUMS. 

As  to  our  bedstead,  very  ex- 
aggerated rumors  were  current 
in  the  class,  traceable  to  the 
secretary  of  the  Red  Letter 
Club,  who,  having  once  had 
a  glimpse  of  our  penetralia, 
brought  back  into  the  outer 
world  the  following  injurious 
report : 

"  The  room  itself  is  a  sort  of 
chaos  of  seedy  valises,  broken 
chairs,  candle-boxes,  decayed 
boots,  and  valueless  raiment ; 
while  a  very  chaotic  thing  in- 
deed is  the  iron  bedstead,  with 
three  legs,  aerated  bedding,  and 
flaming  quilts." 

Now,  some  support  may  have 
been  given  to  this  slander  by 
our  having  bestowed  upon  our 
bedstead  the  pet  name  of 
Tripos.  But  this  was  not 
meant  to  be  accurately  descrip- 


CHUMS.  6 1 

tive :  the  fourth  leg  was  there, 
though  not  usually  in  working 
order.  Those  who  are  familiar 
with  the  anatomy  of  an  iron 
bedstead  know  that  the  legs  are 
kept  upright  by  a  peg  inserted 
in  a  hole  at  the  junction  of  the 
leg  with  the  horizontal  frame 
of  the  structure.  This  peg  was 
missing  in  the  case  of  our 
southeast  leg.  We  had  re- 
placed it  by  a  nail,  which 
slipped  out  and  disappeared ; 
then  by  a  lead-pencil,  which 
broke.  Finally,  we  gave  it  up, 
and  allowed  that  corner  of  the 
couch  to  repose  gently  upon 
the  floor.  This  gave  an  angle 
to  our  slumbers  of  about  fif- 
teen degrees — the  same  which 
is  given  by  the  "  Adirondack 
Patent  Camp  Lounge/'  We 
grew  in  time  to  prefer  this 


62  CHUMS. 

slight  slope  to  the  strictly  hori- 
zontal plane  of  ordinary  beds, 
and  made  no  further  efforts  to 
restore  the  fourth  leg  to  a  ver- 
tical position.  Originally  my 
chum  had  possessed  a  wooden 
four-poster  of  his  own,  but  this 
had  disappeared  about  the 
middle  of  Sophomore  year. 
Whether,  like  Margery  Daw, 
he  had  sold  it  in  a  moment  of 
recklessness,  or  whether  we  had 
used  it  for  fuel,  I  have  for- 
gotten. I  only  know  that  in 
very  cold  weather,  when  our 
coal-bin  was  low,  the  life  of  any 
wooden  thing  at  No.  —  North 
College  was  apt  to  be  a  short 
one. 

Through  Junior  year  I  con- 
tinued nominally  to  room  with 
Rushton.  But  in  the  second 
term  a  difference  of  opinion 


CHUMS.  63 

between  the  Faculty  and  myself 
on  the  subject  of  my  attend- 
ance at  morning  prayers  forced 
me  to  pitch  my  tent  outside 
the  College  Yard.  Under  a 
strict  construction  of  the  law  I 
should  have  gone  away  from 
New  Haven  altogether;  but 
this  would  have  been  incon- 
venient. I  therefore  satisfied 
the  spirit  of  my  sentence  by 
retiring  to  a  country-seat  on 
the  Canal  Railroad,  which  was 
remote  enough  to  amount  to  a 
practical  banishment,  though 
technically  within  the  limits  of 
the  town.  I  owed  this  sub- 
urban asylum  to  the  hospi- 
tality of  a  friend  in  the  Shef- 
field Scientific  School,  who  had 
lived  a  life  of  retirement  there 
for  over  a  year.  I  stayed  with 
him  for  a  month  or  more,  and 


64  CHUMS. 

the  episode  was  unique  in  my 
college  life.  The  home  of  my 
rustication  was  an  old-fashioned 
house,  with  high  pitched  roof 
and  dormer  windows,  standing 
in  a  grove  of  pines,  among  whose 
murmurous  needles  the  March 
wind  made  all  day  and  night  a 
sound  as  of  the  sea.  There  was 
a  decayed  garden,  with  box 
borders  and  althaea  trees.  The 
front  gate  was  spanned  by  a 
wooden  arch,  which  gave  a  tri- 
umphal effect  to  the  simple  act 
of  entering  the  yard.  Behind 
the  house  was  a  hill  covered 
with  woods,  and  in  front,  at 
the  distance  of  a  few  rods,  ran 
the  railway.  We  were  as 
secluded  from  the  currents  of 
college  life,  or  indeed  from  the 
life  of  the  city  whose  factory 
whistles  blew  close  by,  as  if  we 


CHUMS.  65 

had  sojourned  on  the  highest 
hill-top  of  Litchfield  County. 
Never  by  any  chance  did  a  tutor 
or  a  student  stray  our  way. 
Mechanics  with  their  tin  pails 
went  up  and  down  the  rail- 
way-track at  morning  and 
evening.  The  few  neighbors 
who  dwelt  beyond  us  in  the 
same  valley  passed  the  house 
occasionally.  But  the  farmers 
driving  in  or  out  of  town  took 
the  highroad  on  the  ridge  be- 
hind us,  or  the  long  boulevard 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond 
the  railway.  Hardly  a  dozen 
vehicles  a  day  disturbed  the 
dust  in  front  of  our  garden 
fence. 

My  host — and  chum  for  the 
nonce — was  a  man  of  intense 
application.  He  was  taking  a 
course  in  the  chemical  labora- 


66  CHUMS. 

tory,  and  he  disappeared  every 
morning  after  breakfast  and  re- 
turned to  dinner  in  the  even- 
ing, lunching  in  town  to  save 
time.  Thus  I  was  alone  all 
day.  The  season  was  early 
spring,  the  weather  raw  and 
blustering ;  so  I  stayed  indoors 
and  read  steadily.  My  chum's 
room  was  a  pleasant  one,  with 
a  high  ceiling  and  an  open  fire- 
place. The  walls  were  hung 
with  trophies  of  a  year's  survey 
in  Arizona — a  water  canteen,  a 
Mexican  stirrup,  a  lasso  which 
reflected  the  firelight  from  its 
coils  of  hard,  shining  leather, 
and  cheerful  photographs  of 
debris  slopes,  cafions,  alkaline 
deserts,  and  sage  bushes.  After 
reading  myself  into  shreds  and 
beginning  to  yield  to  the 
drowsiness  produced  by  the 


CHUMS.  67 

singing  of  the  logs  in  the  fire 
and  the  monotonous  rattle  of 
the  window  sash  in  the  wind,  I 
would  get  into  my  overcoat 
about  five  o'clock  and  set  out 
for  a  constitutional  and  an  ap- 
petite against  the  dinner  hour. 
It  would  not  do  to  be  seen  in 
New  Haven,  and  so,  for  fear  of 
peripatetic  tutors,  I  confined 
my  walks  mostly  to  the  rail- 
road track,  which  ran  out 
through  Newhallville  into  the 
flat  agricultural  region  beyond. 
The  Canal  Railroad — "  the 
raging  canawl,"  as  my  chum 
called  it — was  not  without  a 
quiet  picturesqueness  of  its 
own.  'Twas  a  leisurely  and 
primitive  road.  The  trains 
which  occasionally  appeared 
upon  it,  proceeding  northward 
in  a  deliberate  manner,  seemed 


68  CHUMS. 

not  to  obey  any  time  schedule, 
but  to  start  whenever  there 
were  people  enough  at  the 
station  to  make  up  a  earful — 
country  neighbors,  in  the  main, 
I  should  judge,  returning  from 
a  day's  shopping  in  town. 
And  the  conductor,  having 
noted  their  familiar  faces  on 
the  down  trip  in  the  morning, 
would  obligingly  wait  till  he 
was  sure  they  were  all  on  board 
for  the  home  voyage  before  he 
gave  the  signal  to  get  under 
way.  I  often  followed,  in 
fancy,  the  progress  of  one  of 
these  Bummelziige  as  it  disap- 
peared in  the  horizon.  I 
thought  of  all  the  little  be- 
whittled  wooden  station  houses 
by  which  it  would  pause,  each 
with  Something-?;///^  painted 
on  a  board  over  the  door ;  of 


CHUMS.  69 

the  lonely  country  roads  where 
the  inevitable  farmer,  jogging 
homeward  in  his  wagon,  would 
sit  waiting  at  the  crossing  for 
the  cars  to  pass ;  of  the  back- 
door yards — chickens  roosting 
on  the  telegraph  wire — where 
it  would  slow  up  to  deliver  a 
letter  or  bundle  to  a  woman  in 
a  check  apron  coming  down  to 
to  the  fence  from  the  kitchen 
door;  and  how  then  it  would 
leave  the  region  of  villages  al- 
together and  come  to  where 
the  grass  begins  to  grow  be- 
tween the  sleepers,  and  the 
train,  going  slower  and  slower 
in  the  gathering  dusk,  would 
finally  come  to  a  standstill  in 
a  wide  plain,  with  no  house 
in  sight.  Once  I  even  boarded 
a  train  and  rode  for  two  or 
three  stations.  There  was  only 


70  CHUMS. 

one  passenger  car,  and  it  had, 
as  I  had  expected,  a  do- 
mestic air — more  like  a  private 
parlor,  or  say  the  conference 
room  of  a  country  meeting 
house,  than  like  a  rail  car. 
The  passengers  all  appeared  to 
know  one  another.  Two  or 
three  of  them  who  stood  on  the 
platform  addressed  the  solitary 
brakeman  as  "Charlie."  The 
conductor,  after  going  through 
the  form  of  taking  up  my  ticket, 
sat  down  and  conversed  with 
different  acquaintances.  He 
had  the  reposeful  manner  of 
one  who  knew  that  there  was 
no  chance  of  a  collision  on 
that  road,  that  the  track  was 
clear  from  terminus  to  terminus. 
A  good  tramp  up  the  track 
and  down  again,  with  a  glass  of 
new  ale  and  a  butter-cracker  at 


CHUMS.  71 

the  grocery  in  Newhallville  (a 
resort  of  merit,  where  was  much 
real  life  going  on),  shook  off 
the  afternoon's  drowsiness,  and 
put  me  in  trim  for  dinner,  when 
my  chum  arrived  with  books 
from  the  library,  news  from 
Academus,  the  daily  papers, 
and  sometimes  letters  from  con- 
fiding parents,  who  figured  me 
still  dwelling  at  No. —  North 
Middle  College,  on  the  "  second 
stage  of  discipline/'  and  knew 
not,  alas !  that  I  had  already 
entered  the  purgatory  of  that 
third  and  final  stage.  My 
chum's  budget  came  like  "hints 
and  tokens  of  the  world  to 
spirits  folded  in  the  womb." 
For  in  truth  the  loneliness  of 
my  existence  began  to  wear 
upon  me.  It  was  that  time  of 
year  when  the  lengthening  days 


72  CHUMS. 

bring  no  vernal  thoughts,  but 
the  pale,  cold  light  lingers 
cheerlessly  over  the  naked 
landscape.  The  spring  is  full 
of  hope,  but  from  the  middle  of 
March  to  the  middle  of  April 
it  is  hope  deferred,  and  the 
melancholy  twilights  are  full  of 
disquiet  and  regret.  A  fati- 
guing wind  blows  continually ; 
cold,  but  with  no  tonic  in  its 
coldness  such  as  the  winds 
of  autumn  have.  From  the 
ditches  along  the  railway  em- 
bankment, the  bed  of  the  old 
Hamdenand  Hampshire  Canal, 
and  from  the  ponds  and  swamps 
of  the  level  land,  rose  the  croak 
of  frogs,  subdued  to  a  monoto- 
nous ring  as  of  distant  sleigh- 
bells,  and  giving  fit  expression 
to  the  feeling  of  the  season  and 
the  hour. 


CHUMS.  73 

This  interregnum  chum  of 
mine  was  a  man  of  Spartan 
habits.  To  keep  himself  in 
trim  for  work,  every  morning 
before  breakfast  he  ate  a  soda 
cracker  (by  way  of  foundation), 
ran  a  mile,  and  returning,  took 
a  cold  bath  in  his  hat-tub.  We 
slept  in  a  wintry  room  under 
the  roof,  and  often  he  would 
wake  me  by  his  yells  as  the  icy 
water  poured  down  his  back. 
The  instrument  of  his  torture 
was  a  sponge,  which  he  had 
brought  with  him  from  his  boy- 
hood's home.  It  was  originally, 
I  think,  a  carriage  sponge.  At 
all  events,  like  Captain  Costi- 
gan's  hair-brush,  it  was  "  an 
ancient  and  wondrous  piece/' 
having  the  softness  and  absorb- 
ent power  of  pumice  stone. 
The  water  poured  through  its 


74  CHUMS. 

perforations  without  soaking 
into  its  cellular  tissue  in  the 
least,  while  its  surface  rasped 
the  skin  like  a  strigil.  Long 
practice  and  an  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  the  dip  of  the  labyrinths 
and  galleries  that  honeycombed 
this  monumental  rock-work  en- 
abled its  owner  to  carry  up  about 
half  a  pint  of  water  in  it.  But 
a  red  artillerist  in  the  class,  who 
once  partook  of  our  hospitali- 
ties over-night,  and  was  invited 
to  use  the  sponge  in  the  morn- 
ing, spoke  of  it  bitterly  as  a 
"  d — d  breech-loading  nutmeg 
grater/'  My  chum  tried  to 
persuade  me  to  eat  a  cracker 
and  run,  but  I  preferred  my 
exercise  in  a  more  conservative 
shape.  As  to  the  bath,  I  agreed 
with  him  in  principle,  but  my 
practice  was  more  flexible  than 


CHUMS.  75 

his  own,  varying  somewhat  with 
the  temperature.  He  said  that 
a  man  who  didn't  have  at  least 
one  tub  a  day  was  a  cad.  But 
I  asked  him  whether  he  sup- 
posed that  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
committed  total  immersion 
daily.  In  Germany,  I  after- 
ward noticed,  a  bath  is  not 
undertaken  in  this  leichtsinnig 
way  of  ours,  but  only  with 
medical  advice  and  after  long 
and  prayerful  consideration. 

Perhaps  the  most  remark- 
able of  all  my  chums  was  he 
of  Senior  year.  Barlow  had  a 
vivid  though  prosaic  imagina- 
tion, which  delighted  in  gro- 
tesque and  sometimes  loath- 
some images.  I  once  heard 
him  gravely  declare  that,  hav- 
ing been  in  Switzerland  while 
a  boy,  he  had  seen  a  cretin 


76  CHUMS. 

wheeling  his  goitre  before  him 
on  a  wheelbarrow.  It  was 
Barlow  who  fixed  upon  one  of 
the  tutors  the  name  of  Glass- 
legs.  He  asserted  that  the 
tutor  in  question  was  possessed 
of  a  delusion  that  his  legs  were 
made  of  glass,  and  that,  at  sea- 
sons when  his  monomania 
became  acute,  he  clamored 
aloud  to  be  laid  in  sawdust. 
He  said  that  he  once  met  him 
on  Chapel  Street  carrying  a 
large  covered  basket  on  his 
arm,  and  that,  stopping  to 
speak  with  him  for  a  moment, 
he  accidentally  jostled  the 
basket,  whereupon  his  inter- 
locutor, glancing  nervously  at 
his  precious  burden,  said  in  an 
impressive  whisper,  "  Be  care- 
ful, please  ;  this  basket  contains 
my  legs,  and  they  are  very 


CHUMS.  77 

brittle.     A    slight     jar    might 
produce  fracture." 

Barlow  also  asserted  that  he 
was  present  once  at  morning 
chapel  when  Tutor  Cosine, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  conduct 
the  exercises,  began  his  prayer 
as  follows :  "  O  Thou  who  dost 
cause  the  planets  to  revolve 
in  their  elliptical  orbits— the 
force  of  attraction  varying  in- 
versely as  the  square  of  the 
distance/'  His  imagination 
was  so  much  in  excess  of 
his  learning  that  it  often  led 
him  into  difficulties  at  exami- 
nations and  otherwise.  Thus, 
at  Sophomore  annual,  when 
the  Faculty  made  their  usual 
unsuccessful  effort  to  drop  him, 
he  had  got  a  passage  from  the 
"Agamemnon/*  descriptive  of 
that  hero's  assassination  by 


78  CHUMS. 

Clytemnestra,  in  which  occurred 
the  line, 

fidhhei  JL£  kpefivri  tyaKadi  fyoiviag  dp6aov. 

("  He  strikes  me  with  a 
black  drop  of  bloody  dew.") 

Barlow  knew  that  fiakXziv 
meant  "  to  strike/'  but  the  rest 
of  the  line  was  Greek  to  him. 
At  last  a  reminiscence  of  the 
Cyclops  and  the  Odyssey  of 
Freshman  year  came  athwart 
his  mind,  and  he  wrote  trium- 
phantly, "  He  strikes  me  with 
a  smooth  stick  of  green  peeled 
olive-wood." 

He  was  also  somewhat  defec- 
tive in  logic.  He  had  ex- 
hausted his  ingenuity  in  fram- 
ing excuses  for  absence  from 
prayers.  Thrice  had  the  nose- 
bleed overtaken  him  just  as  he 
was  entering  the  sacred  portals. 


CHUMS.  79 

Twice  he  had  fallen  prostrate  in 
a  puddle  when  the  bell  was  on 
its  last  strokes.  Once  a  bee 
had  stung  him  on  the  eyelid 
at  the  same  critical  moment. 
Accordingly,  having  made  a 
resolution  to  sleep  over  no 
more,  he  wrote  on  a  slip  of 
paper,  "  Dunham,  wake  me  at 
6.45,"  and  put  it  in  a  conspicu- 
ous place  where  the  sweep 
would  see  it  in  the  morning. 
The  faithful  Dunham  obeyed 
instructions  to  the  letter,  and  I 
was  awakened  myself  at  the 
hour  mentioned  by  bad  lan- 
guage from  my  chum's  bed- 
room. 

"  What's  loose  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"That  blasted  nigger  woke 
me  up,  and  it's  only  a  quarter 
of  seven." 

"Well,    you    left     a    notice 


80  CHUMS, 

for  him  to  wake  you,  didn't 
you?" 

"Yes;  but  I  thought  he 
couldn't  read." 

Barlow  was  a  lazy  man — so 
much  so  that,  having  occasion 
for  frequent  profanity  when 
studying  his  mathematical  les- 
sons, he  had  written  on  the 
wall  near  the  head  of  the 
lounge,  where  he  usually  lay,  a 
double  column  of  imprecations. 
A  single  glance  at  this,  he  said, 
was  equivalent  to  half  a  dozen 
swears,  on  the  principle  of  the 
Chinese  praying  machine,  and 
saved  him  the  labor  of  iteration. 
If  he  had  put  half  the  time 
into  study  that  he  put  into 
contriving  "  skinning"  appara- 
tus for  examinations,  he  might 
have  taken  the  Valedictory. 
This  apparatus  was  often  of 


CHUMS.  8 1 

great  intricacy,  and  depended 
on  a  delicate  adjustment  of 
chances.  One  of  his  plans, 
e.  g.,  made  it  necessary  for  the 
operator  to  secure  a  seat  near 
the  window  of  the  examina- 
tion-room. From  this,  which 
must  be  providentially  open, 
he  was  to  lower  his  question- 
paper  to  the  ground  by  a  string. 
There  it  was  to  be  received 
by  two  classmates  strong  in 
mathematics,  who  were  to 
work  out  the  problems  and 
write  the  solutions  on  another 
piece  of  paper.  A  fourth  con- 
spirator was  then  to  knock  at 
the  door  of  the  examination- 
room  and  distract  the  examin- 
er's  attention  by  handing  him 
a  long  telegram,  dispatched  for 
the  nonce  by  a  fifth  accomplice 
dwelling  in  suspension  at  Stam- 


82  CHUMS. 

ford.  Under  cover  of  this  di- 
version, and  at  a  signal  from 
below,  the  operator  was  to  hoist 
away  on  his  string  and  bring 
in  the  paper  of  solutions.  My 
chum  spent  hours  in  polishing 
this  scheme  and  perfecting  all 
its  details.  It  attained  a  certain 
ideal  symmetry  and  even  a 
poetic  beauty  under  his  hands. 
It  set  in  motion  such  numbers 
of  men,  and  required  such  sim- 
ultaneous convergence  upon 
strategic  points,  that  it  affected 
the  imagination  like  the  evolu- 
tions of  armies.  It  was  a  pity 
that  the  examiner  innocently 
defeated  the  scheme  by  assign- 
ing seats  in  alphabetical  order, 
which  brought  my  chum  far 
from  the  window  of  his  hope. 
The  two  confederates  mighty 
in  mathematics  waited  long 


CHUMS.  83 

under  the  Lyceum  wall,  and 
wondered  why  tarried  the 
wheels  of  his  chariot.  In  vain 
the  exile  of  Stamford  sent  a 
long  and  very  expensive  tele- 
gram, praying  for  a  shortening 
of  his  suspension.  The  mes- 
sage remained  in  the  pocket  of 
Fourth  Murderer,  who  found 
his  occupation  gone.  By  such 
simple  means  do  the  gods  con- 
found the  vain  imaginations  of 
men. 

Barlow  was  also  of  a  cheer- 
ful and  sanguine  poverty.  He 
would  waste  his  substance  by 
heating  pennies  on  the  stove 
and  tossing  them  out  of  the 
window  among  a  crowd  of 
"  muckers,"  rejoicing  when 
they  greedily  picked  up  the 
hot  coins  and  then  dropped 
them  with  cries  of  grief  and 


84  CHUMS. 

rage.  Once  he  broke  up  an 
orphan  procession  returning 
from  Sunday-school  by  fling- 
ing a  shower  of  coppers  into 
the  muddiest  part  of  Chapel 
Street,  by  South  College.  And 
one  day,  on  the  fence,  he 
bought  out,  for  the  sum  of 
twenty-five  cents  to  him  in 
hand  paid,  the  entire  stock  in 
trade  of  a  lemonade-peddler, 
on  condition  entered  into  by 
Johnny  Roach,  the  newsboy  of 
Morocco  Street,  that  he  would 
drink  the  whole.  There  was 
about  a  gallon,  and  such  a 
prospect  of  unlimited  sensual 
enjoyment  had  probably  never 
entered  into  Johnny's  wildest 
dream.  He  drank  the  first 
half  of  his  contract  with  un- 
flagging gusto.  His  sense  of 
duty  carried  him  manfully 


CHUMS.  85 

through  the  third  quart ;  but 
the  only  thing  that  sustained 
him  in  the  last  quadrant  of  the 
job  was  the  thought  that  if 
he  left  a  single  drop  undrunk 
he  would  hereafter  regret 
his  wasted  opportunity.  Pres- 
ently he  writhed  upon  the 
sward  in  awful  agonies,  and 
extorted  from  my  terrified 
chum  another  twenty-five  cents 
wherewith  to  buy  brandy  for 
an  antidote. 

It  was  during  Senior  year 
that  my  stand  ran  down  from  a 
Philosophical  to  a  First  Dis- 
pute. "  Company — villainous 
company — hath  been  the  spoil 
of  me/'  My  previous  room- 
mates had  few  followers,  and 
I  could  study  in  peace.  But 
Barlow  was  of  a  gregarious 
turn,  and  his  friends  swarmed 


86  CHUMS. 

upon  us  like  myrmidons.  They 
respected  neither  the  age  and 
infirmity  of  our  furniture,  nor 
the  sacred  ties  of  blood.  One 
afternoon  I  heard  sounds  of 
ribaldry  as  I  approached  my 
room,  and  inside  I  found  a 
crowd  busy  in  target-practice. 
With  my  new  pair  of  compasses 
they  were  spearing,  at  ten 
paces,  a  card  nailed  to  the  coal- 
closet  door,  which  turned  out 
on  examination  to  be  the  pho- 
tograph of  the  Rev.  Erastus 
Buel,  a  remote  collateral  rela- 
tive, which  they  had  taken  from 
my  album. 

My  chum  was  fain  to  be  a 
sporting-man.  He  bought  a 
small  Scotch  terrier,  which  he 
used  to  drag  about  the  yard  on 
the  end  of  a  string,  where  it 
looked  like  a  fur  muff.  The 


CHUMS.  87 

keeping  of  dogs  was  contrary 
to  regulations ;  but  the  tutor 
in  our  entry,  who  roomed 
directly  under  us,  good-na- 
turedly winked  at  the  offense. 
But  one  day,  disturbed  by  a 
boxing-match  overhead  be- 
tween Barlow  and  a  visitor,  he 
called  to  remonstrate,  and  mis- 
taking Shagbark  for  the  door- 
mat, undertook  to  wipe  his  feet 
on  him,  and  was  chewed  as  to 
the  calf-part.  Shag,  thus  rudely 
brought  to  the  notice  of  au- 
thority, could  no  longer  be 
ignored,  and  Barlow  had  to  sell 
him  to  a  local  fancier. 

In  the  matter  of  visitors,  it  is 
apt  to  be  in  college  very  much 
as  in  a  large  city :  one  has  not 
necessarily  much  acquaintance 
with  the  men  in  one's  own 
entry,  unless,  indeed,  the  entry 


88  CHUMS. 

has  been  "  packed."  The  only 
one  of  our  immediate  neighbors 
in  Senior  year  with  whom 
we  constantly  forgathered  was 
Nimrod  in  the  adjoining  entry, 
with  whose  premises  we  estab- 
lished a  back-door  communica- 
tion by  breaking  down  the  par- 
tition of  the  coal-closet.  Before 
this  was  done,  rumors  of  Nim- 
rod had  been  wafted  through 
the  wall,  exciting  guesses  as  to 
his  probable  character.  One 
day,  going  into  my  coal-closet, 
I  heard  a  groan  as  of  someone 
in  pain,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  partition,  and,  listening 
intently,  distinguished  these 
words  repeated  over  and  over 
again :  "  I'm  a  plain,  blunt 
man  ;  I'm  a  plain,  blunt  man." 

Fearing    for  our    neighbor's 
sanity,  I   made  inquiries  about 


CHUMS.  89 

him,  and  learned  that  he  prac- 
ticed declamation  in  his  room, 
and  that,  emulating  Demos- 
thenes, he  wore  pebbles  in  his 
mouth  at  recitation.  When  we 
finally  penetrated  the  wall  that 
sundered  us  and  entered  into 
personal  intimacy  with  Nimrod, 
we  found  him  a  person  of  traits. 
He  was  a  patriotic  class  and 
society  man,  and  used  his  ora- 
torical talent  with  effect  in  class 
meetings.  He  was  reported  to 
have  spoken  eloquently  when 
initiated  into  Psi  Upsilon,  and 
to  have  exclaimed,  tapping  him- 
self upon  the  breast,  "  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, I  know  not  how  others 
may  feel  on  this  occasion,  but 
there's  a  little  lump  of  flesh 
right  here  that  is  one  mass  of 
love  for  Psi  Upsilon.'*  He  had 
devised  and  caused  to  be 


9°  CHUMS. 

engraved  a  class  coat-of-arms 
bearing  the  legend,  "  One  link 
shall  bind  us  ever :  we  were 
classmates  at  old  Yale.'*  He 
vainly  tried  to  get  my  cynical 
chum  to  subscribe  for  a  copy 
of  this,  reproaching  him  with 
a  lack  of  class  spirit.  "  Fifty 
cents  for  a  class-poster?"  Bar- 
low would  answer.  "  Four 
excellent  cigars  for  a  class- 
stamp?  Ten  glasses  of  beer 
for  a  dashed  old  pasteboard 
with  a  lying  motto  on  it  ?  Go 
to  the  bond-holder,  thou  slug- 
gard :  I  can't  afford  such  frivol- 
ities." 

Nimrod  was  likewise  a  mighty 
hunter  of  memorabilia,  and,  in 
company  with  our  eminent 
philatelist,  who  had  a  similar 
weakness,  scoured  the  univer- 
sity in  search  of  relics.  He  had 


CHUMS.  91 

an  unrivaled  collection  in  his 
room,  and  once  imperiled  his 
life  to  add  to  it  the  hour-hand 
of  the  clock  on  Lyceum  Tower. 
Owing  to  the  supineness  of  the 
Time  Service  Department,  this 
indicator  had  been  walking  over 
the  course  in  solitary  state  for 
nearly  a  month,  its  livelier  sister 
having  been  borne  off  by  a  bold 
Freshman.  Before  Nimrod 
captured  the  surviving  pointer 
it  was  possible  to  form  an  ap- 
proximate notion  of  the  time 
of  day.  After  that  there  re- 
mained nothing  but  a  nubbin, 
which  continued  its  inane  revo- 
lutions at  the  center  of  the  dial 
for  a  month  or  two  more.  But 
Nimrod's  favorite  bit  of  mem- 
orabil,  and  one  of  which  he 
always  spoke  with  a  quiet  rap- 
ture, was  a  Junior  Exhibition 


92  CHUMS. 

Programme  of  the  Class  of  1810. 
It  had  an  engraving  of  a  cor- 
pulent winged  female  haling  a 
similar  allegorical  figure  toward 
a  pavilion  perched  on  a  roll  of 
solid  cloud.  Underneath  was 
the  inscription,  "  Genius  con- 
ducted by  Learning  to  the 
Temple  of  Fame." 

The  mention  of  this  work  of 
art  reminds  me  to  speak  of  our 
wall  decorations.  These  were 
entirely  the  contributions  of 
my  several  chums,  and  were  all 
characteristic.  In  Senior  year 
they  consisted  of  Barlow's  foils 
and  boxing-gloves,  photos  of 
favorite  actresses  and  of  the 
crew  and  the  nine,  colored  litho- 
graphs of  celebrated  American 
trotters,  etc.  In  Freshman 
year  they  were  mostly  worsted 
wall-baskets  and  slipper-cases, 


CHUMS.  93 

embroidered  pen-wipers,  watch- 
pockets  in  bead-work,  and  other 
creations  of  the  needle  furnished 
by  female  adherents  of  my 
chum  who  dwelt  in  the  remote 
wild  West.  In  Sophomore 
year  only  had  we  been  really 
aesthetic,  Rushton  having  pro- 
duced from  his  trunk  and  hung 
upon  the  wall  a  number  of 
pictures,  mostly  without  frames, 
— a  circumstance  which,  he 
said,  was  high-toned  and  gave 
them  an  air  of  the  artist's 
studio.  One  of  these  was  a 
photographic  copy  of  Raphael's 
"  Transfiguration."  Another 
was  a  small  black  oil,  invisible 
save  in  a  strong  light,  when  it 
yielded  a  dim  human  form 
doing  something  with  a  wine- 
glass. This,  Rushton  said,  was 
"  The  Wine-Taster,"  a  genuine 


94  CHUMS. 

Smith.  And  when  I  complained 
that  it  was  impossible  to  see 
it,  he  explained  that  that  was 
design.  "  Don't  you  notice  the 
dank  cellar-light  ?  "  he  asked  ; 
"  how  wonderfully  the  subter- 
ranean effect  is  rendered  ?  " 

When  we  came  to  break  up 
housekeeping  at  the  end  of 
Senior  year,  we  found  the  proc- 
ess a  simple  one.  Such  of  our 
effects  as  were  salable  we  sold 
to  the  Irishwomen  who  go 
about  the  colleges  picking  up 
bargains  a  week  or  two  before 
Commencement  —  when  the 
elms  are  so  bestuck  with  par- 
ti-colored furniture  advertise- 
ments that  they  seem  to  have 
on  ragged  and  patched  stock- 
ings to  the  knee.  What  was 
unsalable  we  abandoned  to  the 
sweeps.  I  remember  my  last 


CHUMS.  95 

night  in  the  dismantled  room, 
where  the  slanting  bedstead  and 
debilitated  chairs  stood  about 
confusedly  on  the  bare  floor. 
It  was  the  evening  of  Presenta- 
tion Day.  The  class  histories 
had  been  read,  the  ivy  planted, 
the  parting  ode  sung.  The 
class  had  marched  around  with 
the  band,  cheering  each  of  the 
old  buildings  in  turn,  and  had 
then  broken  ranks  forever.  I 
had  taken  supper  with  my 
chum,  and  bidden  him  good-by 
at  the  station,  being  about  to 
leave  myself  on  the  following 
morning.  The  entry  was  quite 
deserted  when  I  climbed  the 
staircase  to  our  room.  I  had 
no  lamp,  so  I  lit  a  cigar,  and, 
sitting  down  in  the  dark,  by 
the  open  window,  listened  to 
the  din  of  the  summer  insects 


g6  CHUMS. 

and  the  rustle  of  the  breeze  in 
the  elms.  The  crowd  of  the 
afternoon  had  dispersed,  and 
the  yard  was  quite  still.  Most 
of  the  underclassmen  had  gone 
away  some  days  before,  and 
only  a  few  lights  glimmered 
along  the  college  row.  At  the 
formal  leave-taking  in  Alumni 
Hall,  where  many  of  the  fel- 
lows had  been  "  all  broke  up," 
I  had  felt  no  emotion  ;  and  my 
chum  and  myself  had  agreed, 
in  talking  it  over  at  supper,  that 
the  ceremony  was  not  in  good 
taste.  One  is  always  apt  to 
resent  a  set  occasion  for  grief 
and  to  refuse  to  honor  any  such 
draft  on  the  feelings,  just  as 
one  takes  a  perverse  pleasure 
in  declining  to  be  impressed  to 
order  by  a  famous  landscape  or 
picture  or  cathedral.  The  soul 


CHUMS.  97 

must  take  its  own  time.  But 
now,  as  I  sat  alone  in  the  de- 
serted room  and  realized  that  a 
pleasant  chapter  of  life  was 
closed,  that  youth  was  over  and 
friends  were  gone,  and  that  I 
must  put  forth  on  the  morrow 
from  the  green  shelter  of  Alma 
Mater,  I  discovered  that  I  had 
struck  deeper  roots  in  the  life 
of  the  last  four  years  than  I 
had  even  suspected. 

It  suited  our  mood  to  talk 
lightly  of  many  things  in  those 
ancient  times.  In  our  view  of 
one  another  we  affected  a  cer- 
tain humorous  exaggeration, 
which  I  have  here  tried  to  re- 
produce. Young  men  of  our 
race  have  a  wholesome  shame 
of  making  a  fuss  about  their 
deeper  feelings.  "  We  never/' 
says  Thoreau,  "  exchange  more 


9°  CHUMS. 

than  three  words  with  a  friend 
in  our  lives  on  that  level  to 
which  our  thoughts  and  feelings 
almost  habitually  rise.  One 
goes  forth  prepared  to  say, 
'  Sweet  friends/  and  the  saluta- 
tion is,  '  Damn  your  eyes  ! ' ' 
It  should  not,  therefore,  be 
thought  that  the  prevailing 
attitude  among  us  was  one  of 
levity.  In  college  life  and 
friendships,  under  a  mask  of 
reserve  there  is  much  of  true 
sentiment,  and  even  of  romance. 
The  freshness  of  hope  and  the 
stir  of  newly  awakened  thought 
shed  a  glamour  over  what  would 
otherwise  be  a  dull  routine. 

"  Tis  the  May  light 
That  crimsons  all  the  quiet  college  gloom." 

In  later  life   our  friendships 
become  worldlier.     We  distrust 


CHUMS.  99 

our  impulses,  and  accept  the 
conventional  estimates  of  men  ; 
respecting  success,  cultivating 
those  who  may  advantage  us, 
forming  business  connections. 
We  learn,  too,  a  larger  charity, 
and  discover  good  in  people 
whom  we  once  thought  in- 
tolerable. We  discipline  our 
instincts,  teaching  them  to  like 
here  and  dislike  there.  But 
alas  for  the  unconsidering,  un- 
hesitating scorn  or  enthusiasm 
of  our  college  days,  when  every- 
one was  either  "  a  perfectly 
bully  fellow  "  or  else  "  a  beastly 
pill!" 


EATING-CLUBS. 

ijF  a  varied  and  painful 
experience  entitles  one 
to  speak,  I  may  reckon 
myself  an  authority  in  this 
branch  of  the  curriculum.  I 
have  eaten,  or  striven  to  eat, 
at  fourteen  different  mangers 
in  the  City  of  Elms.  There 
are  houses  in  many  streets 
which  I  cannot  pass  even  now 
without  a  feeling  of  indiges- 
tion. 

My  initiation  into  college 
eating-clubs  happened  in  the 
fall  of  1865,  in  my  Freshman 
year.  Our  first  steward  was 
a  man  who  had  been  reared 


EATING-CLUBS.  IOI 

on  the  sandiest  part  of  Long 
Island.  He  sailed  over  to 
college  in  an  oyster  sharpie, 
and,  having  lived  mainly  on 
codfish,  his  notions  of  a  bill 
of  fare  were  colored  by  early 
prejudice.  On  our  breakfast 
table  the  succulent  fishball — 
of  commerce — alternated  with 
"  picked-up "  codfish.  For 
dinner  the  cod  was  sometimes 
boiled  and  sometimes  it  was 
baked  and  stuffed,  thus  giving 
a  cheerful  variety  to  the  menu. 
Our  steward,  as  we  afterward 
learned,  was  a  poet.  He  had 
written  an  epic  in  numerous 
cantos,  the  manuscript  of 
which  nearly  filled  his  trunk. 
He  read  selections  from  it  to 
a  member  of  the  club,  who 
reported  it  as  containing  a 
description  of  Aurora  driving 


102  EATING-CLUBS. 

her  steeds  up  the  eastern  sky. 
He  never  showed  me  this 
poem,  but  one  evening  he 
came  into  my  room  with  a 
rolling  eye  and  asked  me  to 
suggest  the  name  of  some 
bird  in  two  syllables,  with  the 
accent  on  the  first  syllable. 
He  wanted  it  for  a  description 
of  evening,  thus: 

The  dew-drops  drip,  the  moon  is  dim, 
The  flits  from  limb  to  limb. 

It  must  be  a  bird  of  nocturnal 
habits,  and  he  sternly  rejected 
"  swallow,"  "  blue-jay/'  and 
several  others  which  I  pro- 
posed, as  untrue  to  the  orni- 
thological requirements  of 
the  case.  My  chum  then  sug- 
gested "owl,"  as  being  beyond 
all  question  a  bird  of  night, 
and  explained  that  it  might 


EA  TING-  CL  UBS.  103 

be  stretched  into  two  syllables 
for  the  nonce,  so  as  to  be 
pronounced  "owel."  The  poet 
doubted  whether  poetic  license 
could  extend  so  far ;  besides, 
he  had  already  used  "  owl "  in 
a  previous  stanza.  Finally,  I 
said  that  I  knew  of  one  bird 
which  might  answer — to  wit, 
the  night-hawk.  I  was  not  cer- 
tain whether  it  was  accustomed 
to  flit  from  limb  to  limb,  but  I 
knew  that  it  flew  up  into  the 
sky  at  twilight,  and  then  open- 
ing its  mouth,  dropped  down 
about  forty  feet,  producing  a 
booming  sound  which  was 
highly  impressive.  But  he 
shook  his  head  sadly  as  he  left 
the  room,  saying  that  he  was 
afraid  he  could  not  get  all  that 
into  the  stanza  without  alter- 
ing several  lines,  which  would 


104  EATING-CLUBS. 

cause    him    a    great    deal    of 
labor. 

We  wished  that  the  dinners 
which  the  poet  provided  for 
us  might  display  a  bolder 
imagination  than  they  did; 
but  at  the  end  of  three  weeks 
he  announced  that  he  was  los- 
ing money,  and  the  club  dis- 
banded. He  himself  fled  over 
the  wan  water  to  his  island 
home,  but  left  behind  him  an 
immortal  fame ;  for  it  wras 
he  who,  in  Horace  recitation, 
translated  that  passage  in  "  Ad 
Fontem  Bandusiae" — 

amabile 
Fessis  vomere  tauris — 

as   "  a   pleasing   place   for  the 
tired  bullocks  to  vomit." 

One  of  the  members  of  this 
club  came  from  the  anthracite 


EATING-CLUBS.  10$ 

regions  of  Pennsylvania.  He 
ate  with  his  knife,  and  his 
grammar  was  none  of  the  best. 
My  chum,  who  was  a  fastidious 
man,  was  made  unhappy  by 
his  presence  at  the  table.  He 
always  spoke  of  him  to  me  as 
"  the  coal-heaver,"  and  some- 
times he  would  correct  his 
English,  saying,  "  Plum,  in  my 
country  we  pronounce  that 
word  calm — not  cam  ";  or, 
"  Plum,  in  good  society  the 
past  tense  of  the  verb  see  is 
usually  saw — not  seen."  At 
last  the  coal-heaver  threatened 
to  punch  my  chum's  head,  and 
the  latter  withdrew  from  the 
club  a  week  before  it  broke  up. 
At  the  end  of  Freshman  year 
he  even  withdrew  from  college 
altogether,  and  sought  the  more 
congenial  soil  of  Harvard.  He 


106  EATING-CLUBS. 

really  could  not  stay  at  Yale 
any  longer  and  preserve  his 
self-respect.  At  Junior  exhibi- 
tion, he  asserted,  one  of  the 
speakers  had  said  "  tremenjus," 
and  yet  the  audience  had  re- 
mained quietly  in  their  seats. 
What  would  Dr.  Holmes  have 
said  to  this? 

In  Junior  year,  when  my 
division-officer  told  me  I  had 
sixty-four  marks,  and  urged 
my  temporary  retirement  from 
New  Haven,  I  took  occasion  to 
visit  my  quondam  chum  at  Cam- 
bridge. He  and  his  friends 
were  very  hospitable,  and 
kindly  did  everything  to  make 
my  stay  pleasant.  At  the  club 
where  he  boarded,  the  young 
gentlemen  addressed  each  other 
not  as  "  Skinny  "  or  "  Lippus," 
nor  even  as  "  Tom  "  or  "  Dick," 


EA  TING- CL  UBS.  IOJ 

but  more  politely,  as  "  Thomas  " 
and  "  Richard.'*  I  asked  my 
chum  whether  sometimes  in 
the  lonely  watches  of  the  night, 
when  he  lay  awake  and  com- 
muned with  his  soul,  he  did  not 
regret  having  exchanged  the 
freedom  of  Yale  manners  for  a 
stateof  society  where  fellowssaid 
"  demme ! "  when  they  wanted 
to  swear,  and  where  they  called 
one  another  by  the  unabbrevi- 
ated names -which  their  spon- 
sors did  give  them  in  baptism. 

But  he  answered,  "  No ;  cer- 
tainly not.     Thebes/'  he  said: 

"  Thebes  did  his  raw,  unknowing  youth 

engage : 
He  chooses  Athens  in  his  riper  age." 

And  he  alluded  sadly  to  the 
coal-heaver  as  a  representative 
Yale  man. 


108  EATING-CLUBS. 

I  next  joined  a  club  where 
my  sodales  were  mostly  An- 
dover  boys.  The  place  of  our 
sufferings  was  a  house  at  the 
corner  of  High  and  Elm  streets, 
where  the  Peabody  now  stands. 
"  The  great  university  has  since 
planted  its  stone  foot  over  all 
that  region."  The  house  was 
famous  in  tradition  as  the  spot 
where  the  Crocodile  Club  used 
to  feed,  one  of  whose  members 
shot  the  fireman  in  '58,  as  is 
duly  set  forth  in  that  graceful 
work  of  fiction,  "  Four  Years  at 
Yale."  But  in  our  Freshman 
year  the  building  was  mainly 
noted  as  the  headquarters  of 
Bill  Henderson's  faction — our 
member  from  Kentucky,  who 
had  rooms  upstairs. 

Bill's  apartment  was  like  the 
bothie  of  a  Highland  chief. 


EATING-CLUBS.  IOQ 

During  the  day  there  were 
seldom  less  than  a  dozen  of 
his  clan  on  hand,  and  at  night 
about  six  retainers  slept  on 
different  parts  of  the  floor  or 
furniture.  The  great  South- 
west was  largely  represented. 
There  were  T.,  the  Texan 
ranger,  and  B.,  the  bushwhacker 
of  Boone  County,  who  fell — 
alas!  too  early  lost — in  the  grand 
rush  by  Trinity  Church,  besides 
many  others  from  the  border 
States  to  the  Gulf.  Some  of 
these  gentlemen  had  fought 
in  the  late  unpleasantness  on 
the  Union  side,  and  some  on 
the  Confederate ;  but  in  Bill's 
room  they  met  on  common 
ground  to  play  auction  pitch 
for  banana  stakes,  and  to  talk 
over  those  college  politics  in 
which  the  comparatively  unim- 


HO  EA  TING- CL  UBS. 

portant  issues  of  the  Civil  War 
were  forgotten.  It  was  here 
that  the  great  coalition  was 
hatched  between  Psi  Upsilon 
and  Alpha  Delta  Phi,  which 
convulsed  the  class  for  several 
terms. 

A  flavor  of  old  rye  pervaded 
the  air.  If  you  sat  down  any- 
where, you  sat  on  a  pipe,  a 
"pony,"  or  a  pack  of  cards. 
It  was  always  a  mystery  how 
or  when  the  frequenters  of 
Bill's  learned  their  lessons; 
and,  to  do  them  justice,  they 
seldom  did.  There  was  an  air 
of  infinite  leisure  till  someone 
happening  to  look  at  his  watch 
would  say,  "  By  thunder,  boys, 
it's  ten  minutes  to  recitation!" 
Then  the  cards  would  be 
thrown  on  the  floor,  Bulger 
would  cease  his  strumming  on 


EA  TING-CL  UBS.  1 1 1 

the  banjo,  and  a  general  cry 
would  go  up,  "  Where's  my 
pony?"  And  there  would  be 
a  scattering  to  various  rooms 
in  the  neighborhood  in  search 
of  someone  to  read  out  the 
lesson. 

The  Andover  club  proving 
too  expensive,  I  next  resorted 
to  "  Swish's/'  a  huge  hash- 
house,  or  Thcologischer  Frei- 
tisch,  where  the  impecunious 
Theolog  jostled  the  impecuni- 
ous Freshman.  A  chief  dish 
here  was  liver,  from  which 
the  club  was  nicknamed  the 
"livery  stable."  The  tables 
were  long  and  crowded,  and 
it  was  with  a  painful  anxiety 
that  we  at  the  lower  end 
watched  the  slow  progress 
down  the  board  of  the  maiden 
who  came  bearing  the  plate  of 


112  EA  TING-  CL  UBS. 

hot  breakfast  cakes  in  that  too, 
too  brief  interval  between  the 
first  and  second  prayer-bells. 
Our  steward  was  a  medical 
student  who  was  playfully 
called  the  Unjust  Steward, 
or  sometimes  the  Knave  of 
Clubs.  He  is  now  no  more ; 
and  I  can  say,  without  one 
revengeful  thought,  "  Peace  to 
his  hashes!  " 

About  this  time  I  heard  that 
a  club  was  being  formed  on  an 
economical  plan,  designed  to 
furnish  good  plain  board,  with- 
out desserts  of  pastry  and  such 
flummery.  I  threw  in  my  for- 
tunes with  the  reformers.  The 
purveyor's  name  was  not  Sar- 
dine, but  he  was  so  called  by 
the  irreverent,  who  also  spoke 
of  the  club  as  "  the  sardine 
box."  Our  diet  here  would 


EA  TING-CL  UBS.  1 13 

have  pleased  Dr.  Graham  or 
Mr,  Bronson  Alcott.  Cracked 
wheat  and  other  kinds  of 
chicken  feed  abounded.  Flesh 
appeared  mostly  in  the  some- 
what indirect  forms  of  bologna 
sausage  and  mutton  broth. 
The  home  of  the  club  was  a 
cellar  in  College  Street,  and  the 
scene  at  meal  times  is  not  in- 
aptly described  in  Sydney 
Smith's  picture  of  Rogers'  din- 
ner party — "  Darkness  and 
gnashing  of  teeth." 

Perhaps  it  was  due  to  the 
area  of  depression  in  which  our 
dining  room  was  situated  that 
there  was  so  little  conversation 
at  this  club.  The  silence  was 
broken  only  by  a  person  from 
Vermont,  who  called  out  now 
and  then,  "  Parse  the  sweet'- 
ninV  My  right-hand  neighbor 


1 14  EA  TING-CL  UBS. 

was  a  man  of  fierce  and  gloomy 
temperament,  and,  as  he  walked 
back  to  college  after  dinner,  he 
used  to  revile  the  fare  most 
bitterly.  He  called  the  club  a 
cracker  club,  and  the  basement 
dining  room  he  spoke  of  as 
"  that  blank  cracker  hole,"  and 
he  threatened  to  leave.  I  was 
constrained  to  admit  that  the 
cracker  played  too  large  a  part 
in  our  repasts.  But  my  left- 
hand  neighbor,  who  had  served 
in  the  army,  took  the  military 
view  of  the  situation.  He  said, 
"  Fatwood,  you  talk  like  a  man 
with  wooden  teeth.  We've 
agreed  to  try  this  experiment 
of  a  mess  at  four  dollars  and 
thirty  cents  a  week,  and  you 
ought  to  stick  to  the  flag  and 
not  back  out,  at  least  before 
the  close  of  the  term/' 


EATING-CLUBS.  115 

"You  take  that  ground," 
retorted  Fatwood,  "  because 
Sardine  is  a  Gamma  Nu  man. 
It's  a  Gamma  Nu  hole,  any- 
way. Just  look  at  the  crowd, 
will  you  ?  B.  and  I  are  the  only 
Sigma  Eps  men  in  it." 

(I  ought  to  explain  that 
Gamma  Nu  and  Sigma  Epsilon 
were  rival  debating  societies 
of  Freshman  year.  I  am  told 
that  they  no  longer  exist.  I 
hope  that  they  did  not  die 
without  first  settling  the  ques- 
tion, "  Whether  the  Indian  or 
the  negro  had  suffered  most  at 
the  hands  of  the  white  man/') 

One  by  one  the  members  of 
the  cracker  club  paid  their  bills 
like  the  Arabs,  and  silently 
stole  away.  The  Major  re- 
mained, like  Casablanca,  at  the 
post  of  duty  whence  all  but 


Il6  EATING-CLUBS. 

him  had  fled — all  but  him  and 
the  steward.  He  confided  to 
me  afterward  that  his  hunger 
during  the  last  week  or  two 
was  awful. 

In  Sophomore  year  a  few  of 
us  embarked  upon  the  enter- 
prise of  a  select  club  which 
should  give  really  good  board 
at  a  moderate  price.  The 
steward  was  enthusiastic.  He 
knew  it  could  be  done.  He 
showed  us  figures  which  proved 
that  the  club  could  be  run  in 
such  a  way  as  to  enrich  the 
landlady  without  either  starv- 
ing or  impoverishing  the 
boarders.  We  were  young  and 
sanguine,  and  we  tried  the  ex- 
periment. We  called  our  club, 
somewhat  boastfully,  "The 
House  of  Lords,"  —  a  title 
which  looked  swell  in  the  Yale 


EATING-CLUBS.  II? 

Banner.  At  the  end  of  three 
weeks  the  steward  broke  his 
leg,  and  was  put  to  bed  in  the 
room  next  to  our  dining  room, 
where  his  groans  made  an  ap- 
petizing accompaniment  to  the 
meals.  We  resolved  to  go  on 
with  the  club  notwithstanding, 
taking  the  stewardship  turn  and 
turn  about.  At  the  end  of  the 
term  we  cast  up  accounts,  and 
found  that  we  were  ruined.  By 
this  time  the  steward  had  re- 
covered the  use  of  his  limbs, 
and  wanted  us  to  continue  the 
experiment.  He  explained  to 
us  why  it  had  failed  hitherto 
and  why  under  his  manage- 
ment it  was  sure  to  succeed  in 
the  future.  But  we  had  had 
enough  of  it. 

From  the  House  of  Lords  I 
fell  to  the  Commons.     Here  I 


118  EATING-CLUBS. 

found  a  strangely  mixed  com- 
pany. Most  of  the  patients 
had  gone  there,  like  myself, 
out  of  premeditated  poverty; 
but  others  were  there  as  in  a 
sort  of  purgatory,  doing  pen- 
ance for  the  extravagances  of 
first  term  and  hoping  to  get  out 
again  as  soon  as  the  governor 
should  send  a  check.  Nu  Tau 
Phi  bummers  were  there,  ex- 
members  of  the  "  Pie  Club,"  or 
of  the  "  Twelve  Apostles/'  who 
had  wasted  their  substance  at 
poker  or  at  Eli's  billiard  tables, 
or  who,  having  bet  on  the 
Yale  crew  at  Worcester,  had 
borrowed  large  sums  to  pay  up 
with  and  were  now  living  on 
the  interest  of  their  debts. 
They  generally  held  out  but  a 
few  weeks  at  the  Commons, 
where  the  only  thing  eatable  or 


EATING-CLUBS.  HQ 

drinkable  was  the  milk.  And 
finally  this  began  to  taste  of 
onions.  I  inquired  of  my 
neighbor — a  philosopher  who 
had  long  frequented  the  Com- 
mons— why  this  was  thus,  and 
he  told  me  that  the  cows  in 
certain  swampy  pastures  ate 
greedily  of  a  species  of  wild 
garlic.  He  mentioned  that  the 
botanical  name  of  this  inter- 
esting vegetable  was  A  Ilium 
vine  ale ;  and  he  added  that  he 
had  become,  through  use  and 
wont,  rather  fond  of  a  slight 
flavor  of  onion  in  his  milk. 

My  distinguished  classmate 
the  author  of  "  Four  Years  at 
Yale/'  and  formerly  the  first  pen 
in  Philately  on  the  American 
continent,  lodged  nearly  oppo- 
site the  college  Commons,  and 
he  used  to  allege — with  that  ex- 


120  EATING-CLUBS. 

aggeration  which  is  said  to  be 
the  characteristic  of  American 
humor — that  every  day,  after 
dinner,  ambulances  drove  up  to 
the  Commons  door  to  take 
away  the  boarders  who  were 
weak  from  hunger  and  unable 
to  walk.* 

In  Junior  year  a  number  of 
us  made  up  a  table  for  German 
conversation  and  boarded  with 
Herr  Deining — a  name  pleas- 
antly suggestive  of  the  twofold 
object  of  the  club.  To  stimu- 
late ourselves  to  the  acquire- 
ment of  the  foreign  tongue  in 
question,  we  made  a  rule  that 
whoever  spoke  English  at  table 
should  pay  a  fine  of  five  cents  a 

*"  Triennial  Pome": 
11  The  other  evening,  just  when  tea  is  o'er 
And  ambulances  crowd  the   Commons 
door,"  etc. 


EATING-CLUBS.  121 

word.  In  consequence  of  this 
a  profound  stillness  reigned, 
broken  only  by  such  colloquial 
idioms  as,  "  Wollen  Sie  noch 
ein  Stiickchen  Fleisch,  Herr 
C.  ?  "  or,  "  Bitt'  urn  das  Brod, 
Herr  D."  We  called  ourselves 
"  Die  Junggesellen,"  which  was 
generally  interpreted  by  our 
classmates  as  "  The  Young 
Gazelles/'  If  few  of  us  ac- 
quired a  taste  for  our  host's 
Kart  off  el-salad  and  Apfel- 
kuchen,  we  were  at  any  rate 
grateful  to  him  forasmuch  as 
he  never  employed  his  carving- 
knife  as  a  toothpick — a  thing 
that  actually  happened  at  an- 
other German  club  that  I  knew 
of. 

The  last  college  eating-club 
that  I  belonged  to  was  the 
"  Water  Club,"  formed  in  third 


122  EA  TING-CL  UBS. 

term  Senior.  The  name  re- 
ferred, not  to  the  club's  temper- 
ance principles,  but  to  its  chief 
article  of  food.  Other  dishes 
than  water  did  appear  on  the 
table,  but  were  seldom  dis- 
turbed. This  was  an  economical 
arrangement  for  the  landlady, 
who  was  thereby  enabled  to 
put  the  same  roast  before  us 
on  several  successive  days.  It 
was  apropos  of  such  a  reappear- 
ance that  Cheir  the  Great  used 
to  say  to  the  waiter,  "  This  din- 
ner has  been  eaten  once.  Take 
it  away !  take  it  away ! " 
Cheir  was  the  autocrat  of  our 
breakfast  table — a  portly  swell, 
with  a  striking  likeness  to 
George  IV.  He  afterward  be- 
came a  ritualist  minister,and  was 
known  as  the  *'  wickedest  theo- 
log."  As  such  he  used  to  wear 


EA  TING-CL  UBS.  123 

a  high  clerical  vest,  buttoning 
to  the  throat,  and  he  would 
recommend  the  fashion  to  his 
friends,  saying,  "  Perfectly  bully 
thing  to  save  wash  bills. 
Don't  have  to  wear  any  shirt. 
Just  button  your  collar  on  a 
wart  on  your  neck,  and  every- 
one thinks  you've  got  a  shirt 
on." 

The  mention  of  Cheir  re- 
minds me  of  the  conversation 
at  our  club  tables.  It  was  very 
bad.  The  undergraduate  news- 
papers— which  kindly  help  the 
Faculty  to  carry  on  the  college — 
had  a  stereotyped  editorial  on 
this  subject.  They  attributed 
the  poor  quality  of  college 
table  talk  to  the  marking  sys- 
tem. Perhaps  it  was  the  mark- 
ing system,  but  at  the  clubs 
where  I  boarded  any  allusion 


124  EA  T2NG-CL  UBS. 

to  the  "  curric  "  was  promptly 
resented  with  cries  of  "  Fen 
shop!  Fen  shop!"*  The 
Gamma  Nu  club,  composed  of 
"  digs/'  was  in  some  sort  an  ex- 
ception ;  but  even  there  the 
references  to  the  intellectual 
occupations  of  student  life  sel- 
dom took  a  higher  flight  than, 
"  They  say  Smith  is  ahead  for 
the  Valedictory:  Brown  has 
made  two  flunks  this  term/' 
Or,  "  Do  you  feel  good  to- 
night? made  three  rushes  to- 
day? Awful  tough  lesson  in 
spherics  for  to-morrow,"  etc. 

At  many  of  the  clubs  the 
favorite  talk  was  of  the  nature 
of  "  gags,"  so  called.  For  ex- 
ample, A.,  glancing  over  the 

* /.  e.y  I  defend  or  forbid  (French  d/- 
fendre),  as  in  the  game  of  marbles, 
"  Fen  ebbs  ! "  or  "  Fen  drops  !  " 


EATING-CLUBS.  125 

morning  paper  at  breakfast, 
would  say  to  B.,  his  fellow-con- 
spirator, "  Queer  thing  about 
that  man  in  Hartford." 

On  which  B.,  assisting  in  the 
plot,  would  ask,  "  What  man  ? " 

Whereto  A.  would  reply, 
"  Why,  that  man  that's  been 
lying  two  days  in  the  street, 
and  the  Catholics  won't  let  him 
be  buried." 

Upon  which  C,  an  unwary 
third  party,  would  inquire, 
"  Why  won't  they  let  him  be 
buried  ?  " 

A.:  "  Because  he  isn't  dead." 

Omnes  (gleefully)  :  "  Gag  on 
C.!  Sold  again,  C.!  Drinks  for 
the  crowd." 

C.:  "  Not  at  all  a  gag  !  not  at 
all !  He  said  *  that  dead  man  ' ; 
leave  it  to  anybody  if  he  didn't 
say  dead  man." 


126  EATING-CLUBS. 

And  the  rest  of  the  meal- 
time would  be  taken  up  by  dis- 
cussions as  to  whether  the  gag 
had  been  fairly  "  got "  on  C.  or 
not. 

Another  common  diversion 
was  to  hunt  up  and  bring  in 
"'fat  words,"  as  they  were 
called.  A.,  for  example,  would 
begin,  "  I  came  across  an 
awfully  fat  word  this  morn- 
ing— scrannel'' 

At  this,  many  voices  would 
cry,  "  Scrannel !  Scrannel  isn't 
fat ;  scrannel  is  old." 

A.:  "Well,  what  does  it 
mean,  then  ?  Come  now,  what 
does  it  mean  ?  Bet  you  a  dollar 
you  never  saw  it  before." 

"  Bet  you  five  dollars  I've  seen 
it  a  dozen  times,"  shout  several. 

A.:  "  Now,  there's  where  I've 
got  you.  It  doesn't  occur  a 


EA  TING-  CL  UBS.  127 

dozen  times  in  the  English  Ian- 
guage;  it's  an  anaZ  heyojte- 
rov." 

Chorus :  "  Bet  you  on  that ! 
Bet  you  you  don't  know  what 
an  artaS  hsyojuevov  is." 

And  one  rival  philologist  is 
heard  above  the  din,  proclaim- 
ing, "  No,  no  :  scrannel  isn't  fat, 
but  here's  a  fat  one :  bisson — 
bisson  rheum." 

"  Bisson  be  d d  !  "  retorts 

A.;  and  so  it  goes  on. 

One  of  our  number,  whom 
we  called  Nestor  by  reason  of 
his  great  age,  used  to  remon- 
strate against  this  sort  of  thing. 
"  Come  now,  fellows,"  he  would 
say,  "  what  kind  of  talk  is  'this 
for  educated  gentlemen  ?  Why 
can't  we  have  some  really  im- 
proving conversation,  instead 
of  such  rot  ?  " 


128  EATING-CLUBS. 

It  is  perhaps  needless  to  say 
that  this  venerable  man  became 
at  once  the  favorite  target  for 
gags.  And,  whenever  the  fire 
of  small-talk  languished,  some- 
one would  say,  "  Nestor,  start 
some  interesting  and  profitable 
topic  of  conversation." 

Food  and  manners  at  college 
tables  have  both,  I  doubt  not, 
greatly  ameliorated  with  the 
progress  of  civilization  in  the 
university.  One  need  not  be 
precisely  the  oldest  living  gradu- 
ate, nor  even  have  reached  that 
hoary  eld  which  entitles  the 
alumnus  to  "  reminisce  "  at  Com- 
mencement dinners,  in  order  to 
recognize  the  change.  Some  of 
us  who  are  beginning,  as  Harry 
Brown  used  to  say,  to  "  brush 
our  foreheads  over  our  back 
hair/'  are  old  enough  to  con- 


EA  TING-CL  UBS.  129 

trast  the  present  luxuries  of 
undergraduate  life  with  the 
hardships  that  we  bore  in  the 
consulship  of  Plancus.  I  ques- 
tion whether  this  generation  of 
students  can  even  conceive  of 
the  hardness  and  steep  pitch  of 
the  seats  in  the  old  chapel. 
There  were  no  steam  heaters, 
no  water,  no  gas  in  our  dormi- 
tories. The  yearly  arson  of  the 
north  coal-yard  was  felt  to  be 
an  all  too  slight  revenge  on  the 
authorities  for  the  discomforts 
that  we  endured. 

Many  a  winter  midnight, 
when  the  lights  were  out  in  the 
college  row  and  Orion  possessed 
the  zenith,  I  have  filled  my 
earthen  water-jug  at  the  wooden 
pump  behind  old  Divinity,  when 
the  ground  about  that  classic 
fountain  was  like  an  Alpine 


1 30  EA  TING-CL  UBS. 

glacier  of  uncommon  steepness, 
while  the  aerometer  on  top  of 
Alumni  Hall  uttered  a  low, 
monotonous  note,  as  though 
the  spirit  of  some  old  chapel 
organist  were  experimenting  on 
the  bass  stop  of  his  ghostly 
instrument. 

And  how  well  I  remember 
our  Sophomore  room  on  the 
ground  floor  of  North  College  ! 
The  entry  was  like  the  cavern 
of  the  winds.  All  night  long 
the  big  hall-doors  slammed  to 
and  fro  and  shook  the  building. 
And  every  Tuesday  about 
I  A.  M.,  the  D.  K.  E.  Society 
did  us  the  honor  to  tramp 
through  the  entry  in  solid 
phalanx,  shouting  an  emphatic 
chorus  which  began,  "  Rip! 
slap !  here  we  are  again  !  " 
("  Yes,  d n  you  !  there  you 


EATING-CLUBS.  131 

are  again !"  my  chum  would 
say  with  a  groan),  and  waking 
the  echo  that  lived  between  the 
Treasury  and  the  windows  of 
our  bedroom.  Often  in  the 
morning,  when  we  opened  our 
door,  there  would  tumble  into 
the  room  a  tall  snow-drift  which 
had  piled  up  during  the  night 
on  the  brick  floor  of  the  hall- 
way. 

Now  the  floor  is  of  wood,  the 
New  Zealander  ponders  over 
the  ruins  of  South  Pump,  and 
nothing  is  left  for  the  lover  of 
the  past  but  to  mourn  the  lost 
simplicity  of  college  life  and  to 
breathe  a  hope  that  the  volup- 
tuous fare  of  the  New  Haven 
House  or  the  University  Club 
may  not  unfit  the  Senior  for 
that  wrestle  with  New  York 
boarding-houses  which  certainly 


132  EATING-CLUBS. 

awaits  him  when  he  graduates 
and  joins  the  innumerable  cara- 
van that  moves  to  the  Columbia 
Law  School — the  common  goal 
of  all  Yalensians. 


GREEK. 

j]REEK,    sir,"    said   Dr. 

Johnson,  "  is  like  lace ; 

every  man  gets  as  much 
of  it  as  he  can/'  In  other  words, 
Greek  is  a  luxury.  "  Give  us 
the  luxuries  of  life,"  said  Tom 
Appleton,  "  and  we  will  do  with- 
out the  necessities/'  Perhaps  it 
was  not  Tom  Appleton,  but 
someone  else  who  was  the  author 
of  this  paradox.  At  any  rate,  it 
was  De  Stendhal  who  said  that 
what  Paris  needed  was  a  chain 
of  mountains  in  its  horizon. 
That  is  what  Greek  is  to  many 
of  us.  We  do  not  visit  often 
those  pastoral  slopes,  but  we 
133 


1^4  GREEK. 

have  been  there  once — long  ago 
— and  hope  to  go  again  some  day. 
Several  square  feet  in  the  pave- 
ment of  my  particular  hell  are 
composed  of  resolutions  to  read 
a  passage  of  Plato  or  Theocri- 
tus every  morning  before  break- 
fast. Eheu!  venturum  expec- 
tat.  But  meanwhile  a  catch  of 
blue  mountain  at  the  end  of  the 
city  street  is  uplifting  to  the 
soul,  and  takes  us  back  in 
memory  to  the  times  when  we 
used  to  wind  up  those  classic 
foothills,  through  lawny  glades 
where  every  oaken  thicket  hid 
its  dryad  and  every  gray  boulder 
pedestalled  a  piping  faun ;  up, 
up  across  trails  worn  deep  by 
hoofs  of  satyrs,  and  shallow  run- 
lets matted  with  cress,  even  to 
the  Parnassian  summits.  Levavi 
oculos  ad  arces.  "  I  will  lift  up 


GREEK.  135 

mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  whence 
cometh  my  salvation." 

Greek  is  a  luxury.  Mr.  Charles 
Francis  Adams  in  his  $.  B.  K. 
address  at  Harvard  in  1883, 
"A  College  Fetich,"  affirmed 
that  to  have  studied  it  in  youth 
was  now  the  only  patent  of 
nobility  left  us  among  the  level- 
ing tendencies  of  this  time  and 
land.  Well,  I  have  heard  it 
maintained  that  scholarship  is 
aristocratic.  Mr.  Adams's  at- 
tack prevailed,  and  Greek  has 
lost  its  privileged  position.  We 
are  educating  democrats.  But 
all  the  stronger  its  claim  upon 
the  elect,  since  it  has  ceased  to 
be  required  of  the  groundlings. 
A  princess  dethroned,  still  ap- 
pealing to  loyalty,  still  keeping 
the  high  instep  and  the  Austrian 
lip.  Certainly  I  would  advise 


!-j6  GREEK. 

every  undergraduate  training 
himself  for  literary  pursuits  to 
get  all  the  lace  he  can.  There 
is  no  better  corrective  for  coarse- 
ness or  superficiality  than  a 
thorough  study  of  Greek. 

As  a  college  study,  it  has  two 
great  merits ;  it  is  hard,  and  it  is 
unpractical.  I  see  that  Professor 
Goodell,  and  perhaps  other 
teachers  of  Greek,  have  aban- 
doned the  "  mental  discipline  " 
argument,  and  place  the  claims 
of  their  subject  on  other 
grounds.  We  used  to  hear  so 
much  about  mental  discipline 
thirty  years  since  that  the 
phrase  became  hateful.  It  was  a 
damper  on  the  hopeful  spirit  of 
youth  to  be  told  that  we  were 
not  expected  to  learn  much 
Greek ;  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
no  one  did  learn  much,  but  that 


GREEK.  137 

all  the  while  we  were  having  our 
wits  sharpened.  We  were  eager 
for  acquisition  and  rather  scorn- 
ful of  mental  discipline  and 
other  attainments  by  indirection. 
At  the  old  oral  term  examina- 
tions, members  of  the  Corpora- 
tion used  sometimes  to  exercise 
the  right  of  visitation.  Once  in 
my  Freshman  year  the  Rev.  Joel 
Hawes  drifted  into  the  recita- 
tion room  where  our  section  was 
being  quizzed  in  Homer.  After 
listening  some  time,  he  asked 
Rosenberg,  who  was  just  then 
under  fire :  "  My  young  friend, 
can  you  tell  me  why  you  are 
studying  Greek  ?  "  There  was 
suppressed  mirth  on  the  part  of 
the  division,  who  knew  that  poor 
Rosy  was  studying  Greek  be- 
cause he  had  to.  It  was  subse- 
quent to  this,  and  in  Sophomore 


138  GREEK. 

Greek,  that  the  following  dia- 
logue took  place  between  Rosen- 
berg and  tutor  Divitiacus.  With 
friendly  pony  leaf  between  the 
pages  of  his  Agamemnon,  R. 
had  read  the  exultant  speech  of 
Clytemnestra  after  the  murder 
of  her  husband. 

TUTOR  DIVITIACUS — Who  is 
referred  to  in  TratSa  ? 

ROSENBERG — (Smiles  depre- 
cating! y.  ) 

T.  D.— What  does  muSa 
mean? 

R. — Means  "  son,"  sir. 

T.  D. — In  this  instance, 
"  daughter."  Now  who  was 
this  daughter?  Whose  daugh- 
ter? 

R. —  (Shakes  his  head.) 

T.  D.— Well,  it  was  Iphi- 
genia.  Who  was  Iphigenia,  Mr. 
Rosenberg  ? 


GREEK.  139 

R. — I  don't  remember,  sir. 

T.  D. — I  am  sorry  that  you 
don't  know  who  Iphigenia  was. 
It  must  have  greatly  diminished 
the  interest  with  which  you 
have  read  the  play. 

The  irony  here  was  not  too 
subtle,  and  the  class  gave  cry 
joyously.  How  delicious  the 
thought  of  Rosy's  attaching  any 
meaning  to  the  text :  of  his  read- 
ing Aeschylus  with  "  interest," 
or  from  any  other  motive  than 
the  scourge  of  repeated  warn- 
ings and  imminent  dropping  at 
the  next  annuals ! 

Accordingly,  when  the  rev- 
erend doctor's  question  brought 
no  response  from  Rosenberg,  he 
put  it  to  the  division.  Being  a 
young  ass,  I  volunteered  an  an- 
swer. I  said  I  thought  we  were 
studying  Greek  so  that  we  might 


1 40  GREEK. 

be  able  to  read  Greek  literature 
in  the  original.  The  good  old 
clergyman  smiled  wisely  and 
replied :  No,  it  was  not  probable 
that  many  of  us  would  gain 
facility  in  reading  the  language, 
or  would  keep  up  our  Greek 
after  graduation.  What  we  were 
really  getting  was  mental  disci- 
pline, etc.,  etc.;  and  he  gave  us 
an  extract  from  one  of  his  ser- 
mons, in  which  a  man  getting 
an  education  is  compared  to  a 
sculptor  hewing  out  an  image 
from  a  rough  block  of  marble. 
I  was  full  of  contempt  in 
those  days  for  that  kind  of  talk, 
but  I  have  since  come  round  to 
Dr.  Hawes's  view.  In  educa- 
tion, as  in  mechanics,  action 
and  reaction  are  equal.  You 
get  out  of  a  study  just  as  much 
as  you  put  into  it.  How  whole- 


GREEK.  141 

some  the  weariness  which  comes 
from  a  hard  struggle  with  a 
Greek  chorus  or  a  tough  problem 
in  analytics!  How  different 
from  the  lax  fatigue  which  fol- 
lows a  day  of  desultory  reading ! 
We  used  to  curse  the  Greek 
grammar  and  clamor  for  a  larger 
vocabulary  and  rapid  reading  of 
texts.  We  sneered  at  the  meta- 
physics of  the  subjunctive  and 
the  nine  classes  of  verbs  in 
Hadley.  How  many  men  knew 
anything  about  classes  of  verbs 
in  English, — in  their  own 
speech?  And  Heine  said  that 
if  the  Greeks  had  been  obliged 
to  study  Greek  grammar,  they 
would  have  had  no  time  to  pro- 
duce Greek  literature.  We  were 
wrong.  To  track  the  pure  stem 
(say  Aa/3)  through  all  its  pro- 
tean disguises  was  an  exercise 


142  GREEK. 

in  intellection  like  drawing 
curves  to  an  equation;  a  pursuit 
of  the  ideal,  a  high  recreation 
and  gymnastic. 

Hellenic  thought,  which  has 
so  saturated  the  world,  can  be 
learned  in  translations.  But  to 
get  the  best  results  from  Greek 
studies,  nothing  can  take  the 
place  of  a  first  hand  contact  with 
the  tongue  itself,  unexcelled  in 
its  precision  and  delicacy  as  an 
instrument  of  expression.  Poe- 
try, in  particular,  can  never  be 
really  translated.  The  diction  is 
of  the  essence  of  the  thing.  I 
know  very  little  Greek  liter- 
ature, and  am  ill  qualified  to  pro- 
nounce; but  to  me,  among  its 
many  superiorities,  the  most  im- 
pressive is  that  freshness,  that 
immediacy  with  which  the  Greek 
mind  seems  to  envisage  its  ob- 


GREEK.  143 

ject.  Modern  literatures  and 
languages  are  derivative.  They 
borrow  from  each  other  and 
from  the  ancients,  are  full  of 
quotations  and  reminiscences. 

English  is  a  polyglot.  Ger- 
man, to  be  sure,  is  like  the  Greek 
in  its  power  to  form  compounds 
from  native  roots  and  in  the 
purity  of  its  vocabulary.  This  is 
true  of  the  German  language, 
but  German  literature  testifies 
of  every  wind  that  blows  from 
every  foreign  quarter.  The 
Greeks  were  autochthonous. 
We  are  told  that  they  knew  no 
language  but  their  own.  Com- 
pare, e.  g.,  the  Characters  of 
Theophrastus,  —  certainly  not 
Greek  of  the  best  period, — with 
Butler's  or  Fuller's.  The  Eng- 
lish are  witty,  learned,  artificial. 
Theophrastus  is  not  witty  at  all. 


144  GREEK. 

He  is  not  showing  off,  he  is  not 
conscious  of  what  anyone  else 
has  said ;  he  is  rendering  the  un- 
blurred,  first  hand  impression. 
Hence  true  comedy:  in  Butler 
only  cleverness.  Hence  the  in- 
comparable childlike  veracity 
and  originality  of  Greek  work; 
the  light  of  morning. 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

ALF  WAY  between  the 
rear  of  the  chapel  and 
the  Gothic  facade  of 
the  library  a  shower  overtook 
me.  I  had  no  umbrella,  and  the 
great  umbrella  elm  south  of 
Trumbull  Gallery,  though  a 
favorite  spot  for  the  Tityre  tu 
patulce  act  on  a  sunny  day,  was 
not  quite  weather  proof.  There 
was  the  passageway  under 
Trumbull  Gallery  itself,  which 
would  have  lent  me  cover ;  but 
'twas  a  darksome  crypt  where 
an  uncanny  echo  dwelt,  and  at 
any  moment  the  door  of  the  Bug 
Lab  might  open  upon  an  interior 

MS 


I46       A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

in  which — it  was  whispered — 
vivisection  was  practised.  Be- 
sides, there  was  always  danger 
there  of  meeting  faculty  men 
coming  down  from  the  treasur- 
er's office  up-stairs,  where 
"  Hank  Kingsley  paid  off  the 
boys." 

So  I  turned  southwest  to  the 
vast  yellow  pile  of  the  cabinet 
building;  and  as  I  did  so,  I  saw 
a  human  being  run  from  the  rain 
into  a  sort  of  recess  under  its 
north  wall,  which  I  had  often 
noticed  from  a  distance.  As  I 
approached  it,  I  recognized  Nim- 
rod ;  and  when  I  joined  him,  he 
gave  me  the  rationale  of  our 
shelter.  It  seems  that  the  cabineSt 
had  once  been  the  college  com- 
mons, with  the  kitchen  in  the 
basement;  and  the  porchlike 
structure  under  which  we  were 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        147 

crouched  was  an  outside  stair- 
case and  entry  conducting  to  the 
north  dining-hall,  where  the 
juniors  and  freshmen  had  been 
fed — safely  apart  from  their 
natural  enemies,  the  seniors  and 
sophomores  at  the  south  end. 

Our  area  was  depressed  two 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  Yard, 
and  had  become  a  haunt  of  toads, 
which  hopped  about  us  as  we 
sat,  seeking  to  escape  from  their 
pit.  They  led  Nimrod  to  dis- 
course on  the  college  fauna, 
which  was  richer  than  was  gen- 
erally supposed.  Everyone 
knew  the  gray  squirrels  that 
came  up  from  the  Green  and 
took  nuts  from  your  hand  on  the 
chapel  steps  after  prayers.  Some 
had  seen  the  Athenaeum  cat,  and 
it  was  believed  that  there  were 
mice  in  Alumni,  which  lived  on 


148        A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

the  crumbs  of  Commencement 
dinners.  Nimrod  now  assured 
me  that  there  were  bird's-nests 
with  real  birds  in  them  in  some 
of  the  remoter  elms.  Himself 
had  encountered  a  live  mud- 
turtle  crawling  over  the  wild- 
oats  pampas  that  spread  between 
North  Coal  Yard  and  North 
Pump,  but  he  did  not  think  it 
indigenous.  Neither  did  he 
credit  the  tale  that  a  young  green 
snake  had  been  cut  in  two  by  a 
scythe  while  the  haymakers 
were  mowing  the  loneliest  part  of 
the  Yard,  the  tract  extending 
from  the  northeast  corner  to  Old 
Divinity,  toto  ab  orbe  divisa. 

You  do  not  believe  that  there 
used  to  be  a  hay-field  all  along 
where  Lawrance  and  Farnam 
and  the  Battell  Chapel  now 
stand?  I  tell  you  that  many  a 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        149 

drowsy  June  afternoon,  sitting 
at  my  window  in  North  College, 
I  have  heard  the  whetting  of 
scythes  where  now  you  hear  the 
snore  of  the  trolley-car.  (Nim- 
rod  secured  one  of  the  whet- 
stones for  his  memorabil  collec- 
tion.) And  I  remember,  one 
summer  midnight,  the  smell  of 
new-mown  hay,  raked  up  in 
little  cocks  and  windrows  under 
the  dark  elms,  making  my  way 
slowly  to  my  room,  when  Aleck 
had  been  singing  the  Infelice  on 
the  fence,  and  heads  were  out  all 
along  the  row,  listening. 

Or  perhaps  you  do  not  believe 
that,  in  days  somewhat  earlier 
than  those,  the  president's  house 
had  stood  on  that  same  corner, 
and  the  president  had  kept  a  cow. 
Whether  he  kept  her  on  the  col- 
lege grounds — a  challenge  to 


150       A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

undergraduate  enterprise — as 
has  happened  at  some  other  col- 
leges, I  am  not  certain.  But 
history  says  that  at  one  time  she 
browsed  the  college  pasture  on 
what  was  formerly  Peck  Street, 
but  is  now  University  Place. 
(The  change  of  name  was  at  the 
instance  of  Mr.  Charles  C.  Chat- 
field,  of  the  College  Courant — 
"  CCC.CC"— who  built  a 
house  there  "  in  the  completed 
years.")  A  cow!  Prexy's 
cow!  Just  suppose  one  wanted 
a  cow  now  to  put  in  the  belfry 
— and  that  there  was  a  belfry, 
a  real  one,  say  with  green  slats 
— instead  of  a  semidetached 
modern  campanile — where  in 
this  city  of  a  hundred  thousand 
souls  could  the  cow  for  such  a 
purpose  be  obtained? 

Anyway,  one  can  see  in  the 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        151 

Yale  Book  the  picture  of  the 
president's  house,  a  handsome 
brick  mansion,  with  a  fanlight 
over  the  front  door,  which  had  a 
narrow  escape  from  being 
"colonial."  (The  date  of  its 
erection  was  1800.)  And  one 
can  read  there  of  the  garden  in 
which  the  first  President  Dwight 
"  exerted  himself  to  introduce 
the  general  cultivation  of  the 
strawberry."  I  lamented  to 
Nimrod  the  disappearance  of 
these  domestic  features  from  the 
Yard,  describing  to  him  the 
homelike  aspect  given  to  Trinity 
College  by  the  residence  of  sev- 
eral professors'  families  in  one 
end  of  the  halls — Seabury,  was 
it,  or  Jarvis?  There  were  flow- 
er-beds under  the  walls  (the 
janitor  of  Durfee  once  had  some- 
thing of  the  kind  on  a  humbler 


152        A   COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

scale)  ;  and  often,  in  passing 
along  the  walks,  one  would  see 
ladies  sitting  on  the  balcony 
with  their  needlework,  or  meet 
children  rolHng  hoop,  or  nurses 
wheeling  baby-carriages.  It 
brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  the 
homesick  freshman ;  and  fellows 
who  had  rooms  at  the  back  en- 
joyed the  prospect  of  very  inter- 
esting washings  hanging  out  on 
the  clothes-lines  of  a  Monday. 
Nimrod  drew  my  attention  to  the 
fact  that  Yale  was  not  altogether 
without  the  like  advantages. 
There  were  two  white  frame 
houses  —  since  demolished  — 
fronting  on  High  Street  and  oc- 
cupying a  part  of  the  college 
square,  where  family  life  still 
went  en  under  the  shadow  of 
academic  groves. 

The    rain    fell    steadily    while 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        153 

Nimrod  and  I  sat,  like  Piscator 
and  Venator,  in  our  coign  of  re- 
fuge, and  he  chanted  the  praises 
of  antiquity.  He  had  been  a 
recognized  authority  in  this 
department  ever  since  the  appear- 
ance of  his  famous  Lit.  leader, 
"  Odd  Corners  of  the  Campus  " 
— he  would  call  it  campus — in 
which  his  imagination  had  pene- 
trated rosily  the  dark  recesses  of 
the  chemical  laboratory,  the  se- 
cret labyrinths  of  Alumni  Hall 
and  the  underground  railway 
behind  it.  It  was  Nimrod  who 
had  discovered  the  observatory 
on  Athenaeum  tower  and  the  vir- 
gin forest  in  the  cellar  of  this 
very  cabinet  building  under 
which  we  were  now  sitting. 
Well  do  I  remember  the  excite- 
ment aroused  by  his  article.  Men 
hitherto  deemed  careless  had 


154       A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

come  to  him,  asking  to  be  led  on 
exploring  parties :  volunteering 
to  stay  up  all  night  e.  g.,  if  he 
could  give  them  a  single  glimpse 
of  the  North  Middle  ghost.  It 
was  known  that  his  habits  were 
nocturnal.  Late  wassailers,  re- 
turning from  Rood's  or  Trager's 
or  the  Quiet  House — themselves 
far  from  quiet  the  while — would 
meet  him  prowling  about  in  the 
neighborhood  of  South  Pump; 
and  he  would  tell  them  how 
once,  of  a  Wooden  Spoon  night, 
he  had  seen  forms  flitting,  one  or 
two  at  a  time,  about  the  base  of 
this  venerable  aqueduct,  and  then 
swallowed  up  by  one  of  the 
doors  to  Professor  Silliman's  old 
laboratory.  He  watched  long  in 
vain  to  see  them  emerge,  and  was 
now  convinced  that  an  under- 
ground passage  led  from  the  Lab 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        155 

to  a  certain  mysterious  edifice 
nameless  here  forevermore. 
Once,  upon  a  wager,  he  had  hid- 
den in  an  alcove  of  the  univer- 
sity library,  and  had  got  himself 
locked  in  at  closing-time,  and 
spent  the  night  wandering 
through  corridors,  galleries  and 
stacks,  and  accumulating  im- 
pressions while  the  moon  shone 
in  at  the  east  oriel.  It  grew  so 
still  in  there  toward  morning 
that  he  could  hear  the  book 
worms  gnawing  the  pages  of  an- 
cient folios. 

One  of  his  pet  notions  it  was, 
by  the  way,  that  all  the  library 
windows  should  be  filled  with 
stained  glass;  and  he  went  so 
far  as  to  start  a  subscription  for 
that  purpose  among  the  under- 
graduates and  younger  alumni. 
But  he  got  small  encouragement. 


156       A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

When  it  was  objected  to  him 
that  colored  glass  would  make  it 
hard  to  read  in  the  library,  he 
answered :  "  Who  wants  to  read 
in  the  library  ?  You  go  there  to 
draw  books  to  read  in  your  own 
room.  It  is  much  more  impor- 
tant that  your  soul  should  be 
soothed  and  uplifted  whenever 
you  visit  the  place,  than  that  you 
should  have  a  white  light  on  the 
few  pages  you  consult  on  a  step- 
ladder/' 

Nimrod  was  living  alone,  for 
the  present,  in  a  room  over  Old 
Chapel  once  occupied  by  Dick 
Willis  during  his  tenure  of  the 
professorship  of  music.  (Nim- 
rod had  a  list  of  all  the  men  who 
had  tenanted  the  room,  with 
their  biographies  down  fine.) 
Often  his  solitary  rushlight 
burned  up  there  till  the  small 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.       157 

hours,  while  he  arranged  his  col- 
lections or  pored  over  the  trien- 
nial catalogue.  But  his  main 
reason  for  choosing  these  quar- 
ters was  that  the  attic  overhead 
had  once  housed  the  college 
library.  He  had  a  key  admit- 
ting to  this  upper  story — a  spe- 
cial privilege — and  he  offered 
to  take  me  up  there  some  day 
and  show  me  things  whose  exist- 
ence was  unsuspected  by  the 
average  undergraduate:  to  wit, 
the  original  alcoves  with  the 
names  of  donors  over  them  in 
gilt  letters;  the  name,  in  par- 
ticular, of  George  Berkeley, 
over  the  compartment  once  de- 
voted to  "the  Dean's  Bounty." 
"  It  is  an  outrage,"  said  Nim- 
rod,  "  that  there  is  so  little  care 
about  these  things  among  the 
fellows." 


158        A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

From  the  fauna  to  the  flora 
of  the  Yard  digression  was  easy. 
"  Now  probably  you  think/'  he 
pursued,."  that  all  the  trees  here 
are  elms.  That  is  the  general 
notion,  and  it  is  fostered  by  fool 
songs,  '  'Neath  the  elms  of  dear 
old  Yale/  etc.  My  dear  boy, 
wait  till  I  show  you  a  currant- 
bush  known  to  me  and  to  one 
or  two  others.  Can  you  tell 
where  to  find  the  two  maples 
and  the  silver  poplar  ?  And  how 
many  oaks  do  you  think  there 
are?  Of  course  everybody 
knows  about  the  one  that  Mr. 
Herrick  planted." 

It  was  Nimrod,  by  the  way, 
who  shattered  the  tradition  'that 
Mr.  Herrick's  oak,  since  trans- 
planted to  the  front  of  Durfee, 
was  raised  from  an  acorn  of  the 
Charter  Oak.  He  consulted  the 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        159 

professor  of  botany,  who  pro- 
nounced that  the  Charter  Oak 
was  a  white  oak,  and  the  Yale 
tree  a  black,  I  believe — or  per- 
haps a  red  or  a  blue — at  any 
rate,  not  a  white  oak — and  so 
not  possibly  a  shoot  from  that 
historic  vegetable. 

Nimrod  paid  a  sort  of  fetich 
worship  to  the  English  ivies  on 
the  north  wall  of  the  library, 
and  would  have  been  capable  of 
playing  Old  Mortality  to  the 
class  numerals  obliterated  by 
"  the  unimaginable  touch  of 
time/'  I  used  to  see  him  watch- 
ing the  myriad  sparrows,  as  they 
flashed  down  into  the  vines, 
cheeping  and  twittering  in  a 
shrill  hubbub  behind  their  ever- 
green screen ;  and  then,  at  the 
wave  of  an  arm,  whirring  forth 
again  with  a  unanimous  move- 


l6o       A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

ment,  like  a  swarm  of  bees; 
their  little  bodies  so  close  that 
they  almost  touched,  yet  never 
interfering — a  wondrous  sight. 
And  once  I  found  him  con- 
templating the  tar  girdle  which 
protected  the  Ulmus  vermifera 
— as  a  jealous  Hartford  news- 
paper called  it — from  the  ravages 
of  the  caterpillar.  The  female 
insect  which  lays  the  eggs  that 
hatch  the  worm  is  wingless,  and 
her  only  way  of  reaching  the 
leafy  top,  to  deposit  there  her 
precious  burden,  is  to  walk  up 
the  trunk.  When  she  comes  to 
the  strip  of  tar  she  goes  right 
on,  sticks  in  the  gummy  barrier, 
and  dies.  A  number  of  these  de- 
voted mothers  were  struggling 
and  slowly  perishing,  while  Nim- 
rod  moralized  the  spectacle,  like 
the  melancholy  Jacques.  He 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.       161 

said  it  was  a  touching  example 
of  the  sublimity  of  the  maternal 
instinct,  the  individual  driven 
blindly  on  to  sacrifice  herself  for 
the  perpetuation  of  the  race. 

And  speaking  of  trees,  I  am 
reminded  of  a  service  rendered 
by  Nimrod  to  Yale  literature. 
In  Elsie  Venner  he  had  come 
across  a  mention  of  "  that  lovely 
avenue  which  the  poets  of  Yale 
remember  so  well: 

O  could  the  vista  of  my  life  but  now 

as  bright  appear 
As  when  I  first  through  Temple  Street 

looked  down  thine  espalier." 

t 
What  poet  of  Yale  was  this  who 

had  the  distinction  of  being 
quoted  by  the  Autocrat — in  spite 
of  the  absence  of  authority  for 
this  pronunciation  of  espalier? 
Nimrod  looked  through  Hill- 


1 62        A   COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

house,  Percival,  Pierpont,  Willis, 
Brainard,  and  The  Poets  of  Con- 
necticut, and  even  went  back  to 
Joel  Barlow.  He  button-holed 
local  antiquaries  and  consulted 
his  honored  friend,  the  dear  old 
lady  custodian  of  the  Trumbull 
Gallery;  who  used  to  distribute 
tracts  among  the  frequent  visi- 
tors to  that  shrine  of  art;  and 
was  a  voluminous  authority 
upon  Augur,  the  self-taught 
sculptor,  and  that  statuary  group 
of  his  which  one  among  us  mis- 
takenly called  "  Naphtha  and  his 
Daughter." 

Finally  he  wrote  to  the  Doctor 
himself,  and  received  a  reply 
which  was  among  the  most 
cherished  treasures  of  his  auto- 
graph book.  The  lines  in  ques- 
tion, it  appeared,  were  from  a 
poem  entitled  "  New  Haven," 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        163 

by  William  Croswell,  rector  of 
the  Church  of  the  Advent,  Bos- 
ton, and  son  of  Dr.  Harry  Cros- 
well, of  Trinity  Church,  who  is 
said  by  tradition  to  have  been  the 
last  man  in  New  Haven  to  wear 
small  clothes — a  circumstance 
that  would  have  pleased  Dr. 
Holmes,  had  he  known  of  it. 
The  piece  may  be  read  in  the 
appendix  to  the  old  clergyman's 
life  of  his  son,  whom  he  long 
survived ;  or  in  Poems  Sacred 
and  Secular:  by  the  Rev.  Wil^ 
Ham  Croswell,  D.D.,  edited  by 
Bishop  Coxe,  and  published  by 
Ticknor  in  1861.  Some  of  Cros- 
welFs  sacred  poems  are  known 
to  lovers  of  such  things.  (See 
one  of  them  e.  g.,  in  Mr.  Sted- 
man's  American  Anthology.) 

"As    to   this  '  New    Haven' 
and    a    companion-piece,    '  The 


1 64        A   COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

Chapel  Bell,  Yale  College/  Nim- 
rod  failed  to  persuade  the  Lit. 
to  reprint  them,  and  so  he  had 
them  struck  off  on  broadsides 
at  his  own  expense  and  distrib- 
uted them  all  over  college ;  just 
as  Archimedes  did  with  his  fa- 
mous 'Puckle  Ode'  and  'The 
Chapel  Seats/  (The  last  named 
was  confiscated  by  the  censor 
morum,  and  copies  of  it  are  now 
worth  their  weight  in  index 
checks.)  Capital  verses  they 
seem  to  me  in  their  pleasant, 
old-fashioned  kind;  but  I  will 
bet  a  fig  that  none  of  the  present 
college  generation  has  so  much 
as  heard  of  them.  So  here  they 
are  again;  if  they  were  good 
enough  for  Dr.  Holmes,  they 
are  good  enough  for  the  Class 
of  1910: 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        165 

NEW  HAVEN. 

A    window    in    a    picture-shop ;    it 

brought  all  back  to  me 
The  churches  and  the  colleges  and 

each  familiar  tree; 
And,    like    a    sun-lit    emerald,    came 

glancing  out,  between 
Its  pretty,  snow-white  palisades,  the 

verdure  of  "the  Green." 

O,  could  I  write  an  Ode,  like  Gray's, 

upon  a  distant  view 
Of  Eton  College, — could  I  draw  the 

pictures  that  he  drew, — 
How  would  the  pleasant  images  that 

round  my  temples  throng 
Live  in  descriptive  dactyls,  and  look 

verdantly  in  song ! 

"  Tres  faciunt  collegium,"  each  jurist 

now  agrees; 
Which  means,   in  the  vernacular,  a 

college  made  of  trees; 
And,  bosomed  high  in  tufted  boughst 

yon  venerable  rows 
The  maxim  in  its  beauty  and  its  truth 

alike  disclose. 


l66       A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

Not  so  when,  lit  with  midnight  oil, 

the  casements  in  long  line, 
(Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the 

eye)  like  Constellations  shine; 
And,  alma-mater-like,  the  kine,  from 

daisy-fields  astray, 
Make  every  passage  where  they  pass 

a  sort  of  Milky  Way. 

And   on   the   green   and   easy   slope 

where    those    proud    columns 

stand, 
In  Dorian  mood,  with  academe  and 

temple  on  each  hand, 
The   football   and   the   cricket-match 

upon  my  vision  rise, 
With  all  the  clouds  of  classic  dust 

kicked  in  each  other's  eyes. 

I  see  my  own  dear  mother  Church, 

that  warned  me  from  my  sin; 
The  walls  so  Gothic  all  without,  so 

glorious  all  within; 
And,  emblem  of  that  ancient  faith  her 

hallowed  courts  that  fills, 
Reared  from  the  adamantine  rock,  the 

everlasting  hills. 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        167 

0,  could  the  vista  of  my  life  but  now 

as  bright  appear 
As  when  I  first  through  Temple  Street 

looked  down  thine  espalier, 
How  soon  to  thee,  my  early  home, 

would  I  once  more  repair, 
And   cheer   again   my  sinking  heart 

with  my  own  native  air! 

But  time  and  the  elm-beetle, 
hard  pavements,  leaky  gas-pipes, 
and  electric  light  wires  have 
done  their  work.  Temple  Street 
is  a  melancholy  collection  of 
sticks,  and  twentieth-century 
New  Haven  is  not  the  bowery 
village  which  "  the  poets  of  Yale 
remember."  How  much  finer  a 
thing  used  to  be  a  walk  out 
Prospect  Hill  when  the  path — 
whilom  Gunpowder  Lane — 
wound  among  dense  thickets  and 
natural  hedges  of  the  barberry 
bush,  out  past  Ball  Spring  Cot- 


1 68       A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

tage  Woods,  where  anemones 
fringed  a  black  tarn  in  the  forest, 
and  the  meadows  at  the  foot  of 
Mill  Rock  were  full  of  pogonia 
and  calopogon! 

The  last  time  that  I  remember 
foregathering  with  Nimrod  as 
a  classmate,  he  went  along  with 
a  group  of  us  on  one  of  those 
Wednesday  and  Saturday  after- 
noon walks.  In  general  he  was 
little  given  to  rambles;  though 
he  sometimes  made  pilgrimages 
to  historic  spots,  such  as  that 
wayside  field  where  Major 
Campbell,  "  handsomest  man  in 
the  British  army,"  was  shot  by 
some  embattled  farmer  in  the 
Revolutionary  war.  And  on  the 
night  before  the  last  remaining 
toll-gate  in  Connecticut — on  the 
Derby  road,  beyond  the  Maltby 
Lakes- — was  thrown  open  to  the 


A  COLLEGE  AN'IIQUARY.        169 

public,  the  wooden  tablet  that 
hung  by  the  toll-house  door  with 
the  schedule  of  tolls — so  much 
for  a  one-horse  team,  so  much 
for  a  two-horse  team,  for  a  man 
on  horseback,  for  a  drove  of 
cattle,  for  a  flock  of  sheep,  etc., 
— was  carried  off.  The  theft 
was  never  traced  to  Nimrod, 
who  was  quite  unknown  to  the 
gatekeeper.  But  some  of  the 
fellows  got  out  a  bogus  search- 
warrant,  by  virtue  of  which 
three  scientifics,  disguised  as 
bum  bailiffs,  were  induced  to 
violate  the  sanctity  of  his  room 
over  Old  Chapel  and  make  a 
"  rough  house  "  among  his  heaps 
of  memorabilia. 

On  this  particular  walk  we 
visited  a  sequestered  beer-gar- 
den, or  Schutzenpark,  where  in 
summer  we  had  been  wont  to  sit 


I7o       A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

at  tables  in  the  red-cedar  grove, 
watching  the  far-off,  sparkling 
brine,  while  a  harp  tinkled  some- 
where among  the  grape  trellises. 
But  now  it  was  deep  in  fall 
term,  and  the  tables  were  un- 
served,  though  we  sat  there  in- 
sistently, in  despite  of  a  Kellner, 
who  opened  the  Gasthaus  door 
at  intervals  and  shouted,  "  In 
how-us  get  beer,  not  ow-ut." 
Thence  swinging  homeward  at 
an  Oxford  trot,  by  the  light  of  a 
smouldering  autumnal  sunset, 
breaking  out  now  and  then  into 
"  G'rad'  aus  dem  Wirthshaus " 
or  "The  Church  in  the  Wild- 
wood." 

I  sometimes  think  it  fortu- 
nate that  Nimrod  did  not  live  to 
see  the  triennial  printed  in  Eng- 
lish. It  would  have  broken  his 
heart.  Not  that  his  own  Latinity 


A  COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        171 

was  impeccable.  His  addiction 
to  more  serious  interests  com- 
pelled him  somewhat  to  slight 
the  curriculum  of  study;  so 
much  so  that,  on  the  morning  of 
the  walk  in  question,  we  heard 
that  he  had  been  suspended  for 
failure  to  make  up  long  stand- 
ing conditions.  At  the  end  of 
the  term  he  was  dropped  into  a 
lower — and,  of  course,  inferior 
• — class,  after  which  I  had  to 
cease  all  intimacy  with  him,  in 
conformity  to  the  rigid. academic 
etiquette  then  prevailing.  But  I 
wish  there  were  more  men  like 
old  Nim.  Whether  South  Mid- 
dle is  to  be  razed  or  restored,  the 
agitation  witnesses  to  the  reality 
of  sentimental  values.  True,  if 
the  Old  Brick  Row  sometimes 
comes  back  to  one  in  happy 
dreams,  nightmare  still  occa- 


172        A   COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY. 

sionally  takes  the  shape  of  the 
North  Coal  Yard.  Yet  buildings 
apart,  the  old  college  is  bound 
to  the  past  by  a  hundred  imma- 
terial links — traditions,  memo- 
ries, historic  names. 

I  read  somewhere  the  other 
day  that,  in  numbers,  Yale  now 
stands  ninth — or  was  it  eleventh  ? 
— on  the  list  of  American  col- 
leges. She  is  outstripped  by  the 
universities  in  great  cities,  with 
their  hordes  of  professional  stu- 
dents ;  by  several  big  Western 
co-educational  State  universities  ; 
and  by  a  few  richly  endowed 
private  foundations.  She  cannot 
more  than  hold  her  own  with 
these  recent  creations  in  the 
matter  of  laboratories,  libraries, 
architecture,  grounds,  highly 
paid  specialists,  and  modern 
educational  appliances  generally. 


A   COLLEGE  ANTIQUARY.        173 

But  beshrew  educational  ap- 
pliances! Rather  than  one  of 
these  ready-made  concerns,  little 
old  Yale  for  Nimrod! — or  even 
littler  and  older  William  and 
Mary,  or  any  seminary  of  name 
and  fame,  whose  bricky  towers 
and  wooden  cupolas  are  hidden 
away  in  some  green  village  on 
the  ancient  turnpike  where  the 
stage  no  longer  runs  to  Albany, 
but  tradition  has  a  crust  at 
least  a  century  thick. 


LEAVES    FROM   THE   DIARY 
OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE. 

FEBRUARY  2,  18— . 
| HE  physics  lectures  this 
term  are  very  interest- 
ing. This  morning  the 
lecturer  happened  to  select 
the  sunny-haired  Xanthus  as 
the  corpus  vile  of  his  electri- 
cal experiments.  The  victim 
mounted  the  glass-legged  in- 
sulating stool  with  a  confident 
grin,  but  when  the  battery  got 
in  its  work  on  him,  his  expres- 
sion changed.  His  rich  auburn 
mat  stood  up  on  end  in  a  circu- 
lar aureole,  under  which  his 
convulsed  and  livid  features 

X74 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE.  175 

showed  like  the  face  of  a  Pre- 
Raphaelite  saint  against  a  nim- 
bus of  old-gold.  The  professor 
smiled,  and  even  the  ranks  of 
Tuscany — the  red-heads  of  the 
Third  Division,  known  in  his- 
tory as  "  The  Old  Brick  Row  " 
— could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 
But  the  bottle  which  was  to 
have  been  exhausted  of  air, 
and  then  crushed  by  the  pres- 
sure of  the  outside  atmosphere, 
had  some  flaw  in  it.  It 
wouldn't  crush.  The  lecturer 
and  his  colored  assistant  re- 
lieved each  other  in  vain  at  the 
air  pump.  Bets  were  freely 
laid — in  whispers — with  odds 
in  favor  of  the  bottle.  At  last 
the  harrowing  struggle  was 
abandoned.  Hudson — who  is 
not  devoid  of  a  certain  spright- 
liness — was  afterward  heard  to 


1 76  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE. 

say  that  the  receiver  was  less 
exhausted  than  the  darky. 
Beverley — to  whom  nothing 
human  is  alien — lingered  after 
the  lecture,  and  asked  the  pro- 
fessor whether  this  experiment 
was  designed  to  illustrate  the 
strength  of  materials.  He  also 
expressed  sympathy  with  the 
assistant.  He  found  the  latter 
to  be  a  practical  philosopher, 
who  regarded  his  chief's 
methods  of  breaking  glass  as 
needlessly  indirect. 

"Break  'em  easy  'nough, 
take  a  hatchet,"  was  his  com- 
ment. 

"  Formerly  a  boy  was  used," 
said  the  lecturer,  in  explaining 
the  self-adjusting  valve  of  the 
steam  engine,  and  his  counte- 
nance wore  a  pitying  smile  at 
the  rudeness  of  the  contriv- 


DIA RY  OF  AN  UN D ERG R A DUATE.  177 

ance.  But  on  going  to  my 
room  after  the  lecture,  I  was 
annoyed  to  find  one  of  those 
obsolete  pieces  of  machinery 
waiting  for  me  at  the  door 
with  a  tailor's  bill.  How  much 
more  delicate  and  impersonal 
would  have  been  a  simple,  self- 
adjusting  valve,  with  bill  at- 
tached, hanging  from  the  door- 
knob ! 

FEBRUARY  17. 

Attended  the  afternoon  lec- 
ture on  the  metric  system  of 
weights  and  measures,  and 
m>ade  the  following  entry  (origi- 
nal) in  my  notebook :  "  There  is 
no  use  in  trying  to  bring  home 
the  metric  system  to  the  great 
heart  of  the  people,  until  our 
proverbs  and  even  our  English 
classics  have  been  amended  in 


178  DIA RY  OF  AN  UNDERGRA D UA  TE. 

the    interest    of    the    reform, 
thus: 

A  miss  is  as  good  as  a  kilometer  (approxi- 
mate). 

A  gram  of  prevention  is  worth  a  deca- 
gram of  cure. 

"  Aye,  every  centimeter  a  king  !  " — Lear. 

FEBRUARY  22. 

The  birthday  of  George 
Washington  !  Watson  told  me 
that  it  was  rumored  in  well- 
informed  circles  that  Higginson 
had  this  morning  unearthed 
again  the  fur  cap  with  a  knob 
on  top  which  he  used  to  wear 
at  the  Grammar  School,  and 
subsequently  here  through  his 
first  winter.  Calling  at  Higgin- 
son's  room  last  Tuesday,  I 
found  his  chum  and  a  few 
sympathizing  friends  sitting 
around  the  grate  and  feeding 
the  flames  with  a  collection  of 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE.   179 

Higginson's  head-gear.     I  saw 
them  burn : 

1st.  The  green  plaid  cap  with 
patent-leather  frontispiece. 

2d.  The  black  cloth  hat  with 
exposed  wire  rim,  which  gave 
so  much  offense  in  Sophomore 
year. 

3d.  The  felt  "Monitor" 
with  the  hole  in  the  apex, 
through  which  the  sunlight 
twinkled. 

But  the  fur  cap  was  not 
among  them,  and  there  is  too 
much  ground  for  the  fear  that 
it  escaped  the  holocaust,  and 
that  Watson's  information  is 
true. 

MARCH  4. 

There  is  some  excitement 
over  the  suspension  of  Punder- 
son,  the  class  poet.  The  fel- 
lows have  been  in  the  habit  of 


180  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE. 

sending  him  little  pencil  notes 
in  recitation,  begging  for  odes, 
etc.,  to  while  away  the  tedium 
of  the  hour.  G.  Home  was 
especially  importunate  in  these 
requests.  Finally,  to  him  too 
much  demanding,  the  odist, 
after  a  short  frenzy  on  the  front 
bench,  returned  the  following 
answer,  written  on  a  blank  leaf 
torn  from  his  text-book : 

To  M^CENAS. 

Sine  Cerere  et  Baccho  friget  Apollo. 

G.  Home,  you  seem  to  think,  by , 

That  Homer  doesn't  ever  nod. 

You'll  find,  if  once  your  hand  you  try, 

That  writing  endless  poetry 

*'s  Not  half  so  easy  as  you  think. 

It  needs  good  smear, f  cigars,  and  drink 

To  get  a  high-toned  frenzy  up  : 

The  Muse  is  dull  without  the  cup. 

*  Cf.  Horace.     .     .     «• 

xorius  amnis. 
f  Academice — food. 


DIA RY  OF  AN  UNDERGRA DUATE.   1 8 1 

Who  eats  at  Commons  Club  his  dinner 
Will  find  his  wit  grow  thin  and  thinner. 
Maecenas,  set  'em  *  upward  straight, 
Or  for  your  odes  in  vain  you'll  wait. 

The  eagle  eye  of  the  instruct- 
or lit  on  this  manuscript  gem 
as  it  was  passing  from  hand  to 
hand  along  the  benches  toward 
G.  Home.  He  arrested  it  and 
read  it.  Its  sentiments  and 
language  were  both  too  im- 
proper to  be  overlooked,  and 
Punderson  is  now  absent  tem- 
porarily from  these  shades. 

APRIL  7. 

Father  writes  that  he  is  glad 
I  am  keeping  a  diary.  He  says 
it  is  a  valuable  habit,  and  good 
practice  in  writing.  I  am  to 
bring  it  home  vacations  and 
show  it  to  him,  that  he  may  see 

*  Pocula  largiter  superposuit. 


182    DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE. 

what  reflections  are  suggested 
to  me  by  the  studies  of  the  col- 
lege course,  etc.  Mem. — Brace 
on  reflections.  To-day  Watson 
tells  me  another  painful  rumor 
is  in  circulation  about  Higgin- 
son.  It  is  said  that  his  watch 
has  come  back.  It  is  a  pewter 
buirs-eye,  about  the  size  of  a 
warming-pan,  and  with  several 
coats,  like  an  onion.  He  can 
do  all  sorts  of  tricks  with  it. 
He  can  strip  off  the  outer  peels 
and  throw  the  nucleus  around 
the  room  without  hurting  it. 
He  can  touch  it  off  in  some 
way,  with  a  buzz,  and  it  will  do 
the  twenty-four  hours  inside 
a  minute.  It  was  always  at 
the  blacksmith's,  however, — no 
watchmaker  would  touch  it, — 
being  repaired ;  and  Watson 
says  it  costs  Higginson  more  to 


DIA RY  OF  AN  UNDERGRA DUATE.    183 

keep  it  than  it  would  to  keep  a 
horse.  Fellows  that  H.  owed 
money  to  were  relieved  to  hear 
that  he  lost  it  at  Forepaugh's 
menagerie  last  week.  But  it 
seems  that  he  advertised  it,  and 
it  was  returned  by  a  heavy  man 
with  a  large  foot,  who  had 
trodden  on  it  before  picking  it 
up.  It  was  quite  flat  when 
brought  back,  but  Higginson 
paid  the  man  a  liberal  reward, 
and  is  having  it  hammered  back 
into  shape. 

APRIL  10. 

To-day  being  Saturday,  I  was 
going  to  attend  a  cocking-main 
given  by  Hudson  in  the  attic 
of  North  College,  but  it  failed 
to  come  off.  Hudson  had 
bought  four  birds  from  Epaph- 
roditus,  the  negro  costermonger 
— the  same  one  who  was  hired 


1 84  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE. 

for  five  dollars  by  some  of  the 
fellows  in  Sophomore  year  to 
have  an  epileptic  fit  in  the 
gallery  of  Music  Hall  during  a 
temperance  lecture,  and  was 
carried  out  howling  and  foam- 
ing at  the  mouth.  The  birds 
were  secured  two  days  in 
advance,  and  were  put  in  Hud- 
son's coal-closet ;  where,  in  the 
words  of  Daniel  Pratt, 

"  The  light  of  day 
Shines  but  seldom,  or  not  at  all, 
On  the  course  of  the  awful  water- fall." 

It  was  feared  that  the  dark 
might  impair  their  gameness, 
and  so  they  were  removed  to 
the  garret  yesterday  afternoon. 
But  one  of  them,  which  was 
thin,  squeezed  out  of  the  coop, 
and  appeared  this  morning 
at  the  attic  window,  where  it 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE.  185 

crowed  repeatedly  and  attracted 
the  notice  of  the  authorities, 
who  confiscated  the  whole 
plant. 

APRIL  13. 

Forensic  disputations  this 
morning.  A  good  grind  on 
Featherstone !  He  had  furn- 
ished a  forensic  to  Rosenberg, 
whose  invention  is  not  fertile. 
When  Rosy  meekly  read  it 
through  with  that  sweet  Penn- 
sylvania accent  which  secured 
him  in  Freshman  year  the  nick- 
name "  White-Smmed  Nau- 
sidia,"  the  affable  Professor  of 
Belles  Lettres  remarked,  "  You 
didn't  pay  much  for  that,  did 
you  ?  " 

APRIL  15. 

Linonia  prize  debate  this 
evening.  I  went  in  to  hear 
Watson  speak  his  little  piece. 


1 86  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE. 

He  had  read  parts  of  it  to  me 
beforehand,  and  I  told  him  he 
was  cock-sure  of  first  prize. 
The  question  was,  "  Are  penal 
colonies  justifiable?"  and  there 
were  some  very  luscious  pas- 
sages in  Watson's  speech,  in 
which  he  called  Botany  Bay  a 
loathsome  plague  spot,  a  cess- 
pool, a  seething  caldron  of  vice 
and  a  mass  of  festering  corrup- 
tion. He  took  only  a  third 
prize,  but  the  fellows,  most  of 
them,  thought  he  ought  to  have 
had  the  first.  His  language 
was  certainly  very  strong. 

Yesterday  morning  Watson 
was  rehearsing  his  piece  in  his 
room.  In  the  midst  of  a  beauti- 
ful description  of  Russian  con- 
victs passing  through  the  Ural 
Mountains,  one  of  his  gestures 
upset  the  water-pan  on  the 


DIA RY  OF  AN  UNDERGRA D UA  TE.   187 

stove  and  spilled  its  contents 
over  the  feet  of  his  chum, 
Dempster,  who  was  smoking 
near  by.  The  latter  has  since 
remained  in  his  room,  with 
bandaged  feet,  and  Watson 
carries  his  meals  to  him  from 
the  club.  I  was  telling  Higgin- 
son  about  the  accident  this 
A.  M.,  but  he  smiled  knowingly 
and  said  : 

"  Do  you  really  imagine  that 
the  water  was  hot  ?  I  have  sat 
on  Watson's  stove  half  an  hour 
at  a  time  without  singeing  my 
pantaloons,  and  watched  the 
low-spirited  thermometer  in  the 
corner  trying  to  climb  up  to 
65°.  No  ;  Dempster's  feet  are 
not  scalded.  It  is  all  a  ruse  to 
get  up  a  reputation  for  the 
stove,  which  they  are  trying  to 
sell.  Observe  the  ostentatious 


188   DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE. 

manner  in  which  Watson  carries 
the  meals.  It  is  done  to  pro- 
voke inquiry/* 

I  told  Watson  this  afternoon 
what  Higginson  had  said,  and 
he  answered  : 

"  Higginson  5s  embittered  by 
my  exposure  of  his  watch  and 
his  bad  hats,  and  is,  therefore, 
not  to  be  trusted.  If  you 
doubt  me,  come  and  sit  on  the 
stove  yourself." 

APRIL  1 8. 

The  financial  panic  in  the 
class  has  passed  its  crisis.  Last 
term  the  little  busy  B.  compiled 
an  "  Index  to  the  Yale  Literary 
Magazine,"  which  he  foisted 
upon  a  reluctant  public  at  fifty 
cents  a  copy,  exacting  payment 
in  advance  of  publication. 
Pending  the  appearance  of  this 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE.   1 89 

valuable  guide  to  the  treasures 
of  genius  buried  in  the  Li., 
each  subscriber  received  a  ticket 
entitling  the  holder  to  one  copy 
of  the  "  Index  "  as  soon  as  it 
should  be  issued.  These  choses 
in  action,  being  negotiable,  got 
into  circulation  in  the  class, 
and  were  used  in  the  payment 
of  debts  and  otherwise.  They 
began  to  depreciate  rapidly,  and 
were  finally  bought  up  by  one 
speculator,  and  employed  as 
poker  chips  by  the  gamblers  of 
South  College,  being  redeemed 
at  eleven  cents  apiece,  or 
twenty-two  per  cent.,  on  their 
face  value.  The  Courant  now 
asserts  that  B.  is  trying  to  bull 
the  market  by  threatening  to 
issue  a  limited  edition  of  the 
"  Index "  and  retain  five  hun- 
dred copies  for  his  own  use. 


I  go  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE. 

APRIL  23. 

Spring  vacation  to-morrow. 
Have  been  packing  my  trunk  all 
the  afternoon.  I  think,  on  the 
whole,  I  won't  take  this  diary 
home,  but  will  give  father  my 
reflections  on  the  studies  of 
the  term,  etc.,  orally. 

MAY  17. 

Last  night  I  was  initiated 
into  the  Red  Letter  Club- 
nicknamed  by  outsiders  "  The 
Dead  Letter  Club."  Father 
wrote  last  week,  giving  his  con- 
sent to  my  joining  the  club. 
He  objects  to  the  Greek  letter 
societies  as  frivolous  and  a 
waste  of  time  ;  but  he  cordially 
approved  my  entering  an  as- 
sociation whose  object  is  de- 
fined by  the  constitution — a 
noble  instrument — as  "  the  cul- 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE.   IQI 

ture  of  the  mind  and  the  mutual 
improvement  of  the  members, 
socially,  intellectually,  and 
morally." 

The  meetings  are  held  at 
Mrs.  Bruno's  alehouse,  a  place 
not  as  unspotted  of  the  world 
as  the  President's  lecture  room, 
but  very  respectable — for  an 
alehouse.  I  was  told  to  report 
there  at  8  P.  M.  On  entering 
the  taproom  I  was  a  little  in 
doubt,  as  there  was  no  one  there 
but  the  usual  barkeeper,  with 
red  face  and  blue  mustache.  I 
asked  him  if  this  was  Mrs.  Bru- 
no's, and  he  answered  with  that 
indirectness  which  I  have  no- 
ticed in  barkeepers  (and  which 
is  singularly  like  the  responses 
in  the  Greek  tragic  dialogue) : 

"  Wai,  Bruno's  the  name  on 
the  signboard,  I  guess." 


IQ2  DIA RY  OF  AN  UNDER GRA D UA  TE. 

At  this  moment  Hudson, 
who  is  president  of  the  club, 
heard  my  voice,  and  opening 
an  inner  door,  beckoned  me 
into  the  snuggery.  All  the 
members  were  present  except 
Watson,  who  came  in  late  and 
was  fined  fifty  cents.  I  signed 
my  name  to  the  constitution, 
and  took  an  iron-clad  oath  to 
support  it  to  the  bloody  end. 
There  were  some  Babylonish 
red  curtains  at  the  window, 
which  lent  a  cheerful  air  to  the 
scene,  but  my  feelings  were 
outraged  by  the  mural  decora- 
tions— a  green  and  yellow 
lithograph  of  the  Prodigal  Son 
and  a  chromo  of  the  Good 
Samaritan  pouring  arnica  into 
the  wounds  of  the  man  who  fell 
among  thieves. 

Dempster  opened  the  literary 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGEADUA  TE.   193 

exercises  by  reading  an  essay 
on  life  insurance.  He  was  fre- 
quently interrupted  by  bursts 
of  applause.  Impatient  and 
critical  spirits  solaced  them- 
selves during  the  reading  by 
munching  the  soothing  almond 
and  raisin.  But  he  was  fol- 
lowed by  Higginson,  who  told 
from  memory  De  Qtiincey's 
story  of  the  "Spanish  Nun," 
an  affliction  which  lasted  an 
hour  and  a  half,  and  which 
neither  sweetmeats  nor  stimu- 
lants could  mitigate.  A  con- 
tribution was  then  read  from 
the  Harvard  Chapter,  of  which 
I  obtained  a  copy  : 

HORATIAN  DIALOGUE. 

LEWIS. 
Walter,  about  your  room  you  often  tell, 

To  talk  about  your  pictures  never  cease  ; 
But  in  one  thing  you'll  own  that  I  excel — 
I  have  a  cattle  piece. 


IQ4  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE. 

WALTER. 

Lewis,  in  vain  you  try  to  shake  my  mind 
By  saying  this  thing,  which  you  hope  is 
new. 

Unreasoning  boaster,  ignorant  and  blind, 
I  have  one,  too  ! 

LEWIS. 

My  cattle  lie  upon  a  gentle  hill, 

And  calmly  gaze  into  the  distant  west, 

While  the  low  sun  shines  on  each  glisten- 
ing rill, 
And  sinks  to  rest. 

WALTER. 

Mine  proudly  stand  upon  the  mountain 

turf, 

And  view  with  wondering  eyes  the  land- 
scape wide, 

Silently  listening  to  the  tumbling  surf 
On  far-off  ocean  side. 

LEWIS. 

From  this  vain  striving  now  let  each  one 

cease  ; 

This  much  I  own,  your  cattle  piece  is 
fine. 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE.    195 

WALTER. 

Well  said,  O  friend  :  praise  you  your  cat- 
tle piece, 
And  I'll  praise  mine. 

The  MSS.  are  filed  away  in  a 
red  box,  labeled  "Veal  Cut- 
lets." A  Hebe  with  a  retrousst 
nose  then  brought  in  the  Welsh 
rabbits.  They  were  a  little  too 
Welsh  for  me,  and  were  made 
of  what  our  Sheffield  member 
called  "  granulated  "  cheese. 
Not  wishing  to  be  unfaithful  to 
the  traditions  of  the  club,  I  ate 
a  rabbit  and  a  half,  and  experi- 
enced the  most  deplorable  con- 
sequences afterward.  Nor 
were  the  entire  resources  of 
modern  science  applied  to  the 
ventilation  of  the  oyster  pie 
which  followed.  Watson  in- 
formed me  that  they  once  had 
a  roast  duck,  but  the  strain  on 


lg6  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE. 

the  resources  of  Mrs.  Bruno's 
cuisine  had  been  awful.  The 
wine  was  an  offense  to  taste — a 
North  Carolina  product  known 
as  "  Scuppernong." 

The  members  of  the  club 
then  had  the  opportunity  of 
enjoying  that  inestimable  privi- 
lege— the  right  of  suffrage — 
in  balloting  for  officers  for  the 
ensuing  year.  The  result  was 
announced  amid  the  wildest 
enthusiasm,  and  the  idols  of 
popular  favor  received  their 
honors  in  the  customary  blush- 
ing manner. 

I  have  written  to  father  for 
the  initiation  fee  (ten  dollars), 
saying  that  the  exercises  of  the 
club  are  of  a  most  profitable 
character,  and  that  I  feel  my 
mind  already  greatly  improved. 


DIARY  OF  AN-  UNDERGRADUA  TJS.   197 

OCTOBER  13. 

Rushton  has  been  absent 
from  the  class  this  term.  Some 
of  the  fellows  saw  him  the 
other  day  in  the  lower  part  of 
the  town,  dragging  a  small  go- 
cart,  full  of  packages.  He  ex- 
plained that  so  many  horses 
were  down  with  the  epizootic, 
that  merchants  had  to  hire  men 
to  deliver  parcels.  So  he  had 
become  a  horse,  and  he  said 
there  was  more  money  in  it 
than  in  being  a  Greek  pony,  at 
fifty  cents  an  hour,  or  writing 
compositions  on  "  The  Law  of 
Decay  in  Nations,"  at  two  dol- 
lars apiece,  for  men  in  the 
third  division.  He  will  not  re- 
turn to  college  so  long  as  his 
job  holds  out  to  burn. 


198  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE. 

OCTOBER  22. 

Another  good  man  gone ! 
This  time  it  is  Gudgeon,  the 
Caliban  with  a  pink  beard,  who 
was  imported  last  year  from 
somewhere  in  Boone  County 
by  Henderson.  Henderson  has 
always  been  rather  anxious 
about  him.  When  he  first 
came  up  to  be  examined,  he 
was  afraid  that  he  might  get 
mad  and  lick  some  of  the  ex- 
aminers if  they  asked  him  too 
many  questions.  He  said  that 
Gudgeon  was  a  Southern  boy, 
and  could  cut  and  shoot,  and 
wouldn't  stand  any  bigod 
nonsense. 

It  seems  that  Gudgeon  and 
some  others  had  been  down 
town,  and  came  into  the  yard 
about  ii  P.  M.  feeling  quite 
racy.  They  made  such  happy 


DIARY  OF  AN1  UNDERGRADUA  TE.    199 

noises  that  Barlow,  who  was 
studying  Conies  in  his  room  in 
North  Middle,  opened  his  win- 
dow and  yelled  out,  "  Get  me 
so ;  I  want  to  be  so."  This 
woke  Tutor  Divitiacus — known 
as  old  Privative  Entity — who 
watched  the  subsequent  pro- 
ceedings with  interest. 

The  crowd  then  went  down 
to  the  fence,  and,  seeing  a  light 
in  Tuckerman's  shop  across  the 
street,  they  began  to  sing  a 
variation  of  the  well  known 
German  cradle  song,  "  Schlaf, 
Kindele,  Schlaf." 


1  Sleep,      Tuckerman,      sleep !     Sleep, 

Tuckerman,  sleep  ! 
Your  oil   and  your   chimneys  will   do 

very  well  ; 
Your  matches  won't  light  if  you  stick 

'em  in 

"  Sleep,"  etc. 


200  DTA RY  OF  AN  UNDER GRA D UA  TJS. 

The  words  are  by  Higginson, 
whose  big  astral  lamp — which 
he  calls  Pharos — drinks  so  much 
oil  and  breaks  so  many  chim- 
neys that  he  is  dreadfully  in  debt 
to  Tuckerman.  Tuckerman 
lately  refused  him  any  further 
credit,  so  Higginson  wrote  this 
song  for  revenge,  and  has 
trained  a  quartette  to  sing  it. 

Pretty  soon  Tuckerman's 
light  went  out,  and  all  the  fel- 
lows went  off  to  bed  except 
Gudgeon  and  Nimrod. 

The  ironmonger  opposite 
South  College  uses  his  front 
yard  to  advertise  his  wares. 
On  the  door-steps  is  a  pair  of 
"  portal-warding  lion-whelps." 
On  one  side  of  the  walk  is  a 
deer  with  liver-colored  mot- 
tlings,  and  on  the  other  a  realis- 
tic Newfoundland  dog.  In  the 


VIA RY  OF  AN  UNDERGRA D UA  T£.    201 

center  of  the  right-hand  grass 
plot  is  a  bathukolpos  sphinx 
on  a  pedestal,  and  in  the 
centre  of  the  left-hand  plot  an 
ornamented  fountain  with  gold- 
fish. On  the  edge  of  the  basin 
squats  a  large  green  frog.  This 
is  the  third  of  the  family,  two 
predecessors  having  been  stolen 
by  Nimrod  for  memorabil.  To 
guard  against  further  losses,  the 
ironmonger  had  had  this  one 
riveted  to  the  fountain  by  a 
spike  driven  through  its  body. 
But  this  fact  was  unknown  to 
Gudgeon.  Nimrod  was  telling 
him,  as  they  sat  on  the  fence, 
of  his  capture  of  the  two  pre- 
vious frogs,  which  he  offered 
to  show  him  if  he  would  come 
to  his  room  over  the  Old 
Chapel  some  day,  and  look 
over  his  collection. 


202  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE. 

The  tale  fired  Gudgeon  to 
emulation.  With  a  wild  Boone 
County  whoop,  he  ran  across 
the  street,  vaulted  the  (iron) 
fence  and  strove  to  tear  the 
reptile  from  its  moorings.  But 
the  frog — like  him  of  Calaveras 
County  —  "with  fix£d  anchor 
in  his  scaly  rind,"  refused  to 
budge.  Gudgeon  tugged  and 
pushed,  and  his  imprecations 
filled  the  night.  Then,  sud- 
denly abandoning  his  first 
design,  he  jumped  into  the 
water  and  chased  the  gold  fish 
around  the  basin,  clutching  at 
their  darting  forms  in  the 
uncertain  gleams  of  the  gas- 
lights which  adorned  the  iron- 
monger's gate-posts.  It  was 
while  he  was  thus  engaged 
that  Tutor  Divitiacus  and 
Policeman  X.  simultaneously, 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE.  203 

though  not  preconcertedly, 
swooped  upon  him  from  oppo- 
site sides. 

NOVEMBER  8. 

Gudgeon's  suspension  was 
the  subject  of  our  table  talk 
to-day.  Punderson,  the  class 
poet,  produced  and  read  an 
"  Ode  to  the  Frog  of  the  Ban- 
dusian  Font."  It  began 

"0  hapless  saurian." 

But  Watson,  who  is  in  the 
zoology  elective  and  has  been 
vivisecting  frogs  all  this  term, 
pointed  out  to  Punderson  that 
he  was  way  off  in  his  natural 
history;  and  he  changed  it 
accordingly  to, 

"  O  hoarse  batrachian." 

It  came  out  that,  on  the  night 
after  Gudgeon's  adventure, 


204  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  T£. 

Hudson,  who  is  full  of  merry 
conceits,  had  taken  a  paint  pot 
and  brush  and  painted  two 
inscriptions  on  the  rim  of  the 
fountain,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  frog  ;  to  wit :  "  Marry  come 
up!"  and  "The  iron  hath 
entered  his  soul."  This  had 
embittered  the  monger,  who 
complained  to  the  Faculty, 
and  Gudgeon  was  sacrificed. 
Henderson  reproached  Hud- 
for  thus  compromising  Gud- 
geon's case  pendente  lite.  But 
Hudson  said  he  didn't  think 
Gudgeon  was  much  of  a  loss 
to  the  class  anyway :  he  was  a 
very  uncultivated  man,  called 
his  father  his  "  paw,"  and  pro- 
nounced does  "dooz."  Hen- 
derson retorted  that  Hudson 
was  pedantic  and  narrow- 
minded,  and  very  small  in  his 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE.   2O$ 

way  of  judging  men.  He 
called  him  an  iota  subscript 
and  a  microscopic  siliceous 
spiculum  of  a  sponge,  and  said 
that  Gudgeon  might  be  rough 
in  his  ways,  but  he  had  a  great 
big  soul. 

It  is  reported  that  Gudgeon 
is  at  Stamford,  and  that  he 
threatens  to  lick  Tutor  Divi- 
tiacus  as  soon  as  his  suspension 
is  over. 

NOVEMBER  17. 

The  sensation  of  the  day  is 
the  appearance  of  Higginson  in 
a  silk  hat  with  a  weed.  It  is 
said  that  G.  Home,  who  has 
recently  lost  an  uncle,  went 
down  to  the  hatter's  to  get  a 
weed  put  on  his  hat.  Higgin- 
son happened  to  walk  down 
Chapel  Street  with  him,  and, 
arrived  at  the  hatter's,  G.  Home 


206  DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUATE. 

urged  him,  almost  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  to  go  inside  with  him 
and  get  a  new  hat,  discarding 
the  cap  with  a  fur  button  on 
top,  which  has  made  it  so  pain- 
ful of  late  to  associate  much 
with  Higginson. 

"  Have  some  style  about 
you!"  implored  G.  Home. 

"  Well,  what  shall  I  get  ?  " 
asked  Higginson. 

"  Get  a  tall  hat,  like  mine," 
said  G.  Home. 

Higginson  finally  consented, 
and  the  hat  was  bought.  The 
hatter  asked  G.  Home  how 
wide  he  wanted  his  weed.  Was 
he  in  mourning  for  a  very  near 
relative  ? 

"  An  uncle,"  answered  G. 
Home. 

"  Then  about  three  inches 
will  be  correct,"  said  the  batter. 


DIARY  OF  AN  UNDERGRADUA  TE.    207 

"  Say/'  struck  in  Higginson, 
"  I  believe  you  can  put  a  weed 
on  mine,  too.  It  makes  a  hat 
look  tony." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  hatter: 
"and  what  shall  I  make  it?  " 

"  Oh,  about  an  uncle,"  an- 
swered Higginson. 


RECREATIONS  OF  THE  RED 
LETTER  CLUB. 


Perchance  on  some  Red  Letter  night, 
When  snow  was  softly  heaping 

Outside  upon  the  window  sill 
And,  o'er  our  senses  creeping, 

The  sleepy  malt,  the  grate-fire's  glow, 
That  tinged  our  pipe-smoke  rosy 

As  evening  clouds,  had  made  us  feel 
Particularly  cozy  ; 

I've  taken  from  my  pocket's  depths 
A  torn  and  crumpled  paper, 

Whereon     were     traced     some    idle 

rhymes, 
An  idler  brain's  light  vapor  ; 

And  if  to  these  the  Letters  Red 
Listened  with  kind  indulgence, 

We'll  lay  it  to  that  genial  malt 
And  fire-light's  soft  effulgence.* 


*  From    Ad  lulum  Antonium.     For  the 
complete  poem,  seep.  318. 


A  SHADES. 

SHADES     there     is     un- 
known to  fame, 
A  shades  indeed  that  very 

few  know; 
And  fewer  still  can  spell  the  name 
That   decks   its   windows — Madam 
Bruno. 

(I  know  a  quote  here  rather  pat; 

Perhaps  it  wouldn't  come  amiss ; 
By    Jove,    I'll    sling   it!    here    goes: 
Stat— 

Stat  umbra  magni  nominis). 

What's  in  a  name?  The  rose  is  sweet, 
Its  bower  is  snug,  albeit  shady: 

The  ale  is  nice,  the  room  is  neat, 
And  neater  still  the  nice  Old  Lady. 

If  Bacchus'  self  should  step  in  here 
He'd  hardly  miss  the  rosy  Hebe 


212  A  SHADES. 

While    smiling    Madam    poured    his 

beer, 
Or  honest  Tom  or  pretty  Phebe. 

He'd  hardly  miss  his  nectar  cup : 
I'll  bet  a  fig  that  every  night  he 

Would  here  on  savory  rabbits  sup 
And  swig  his  ale  sub  aria  vite. 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA. 

[CONTRIBUTED  BY  WATSON.] 

OMPLAINT  is  some- 
times  made  that  in  the 
teaching  given  at  Yale 
the  aesthetic  side  of  studies  is 
neglected :  e.  g.,  that  in  the 
reading  of  Greek  and  Latin 
texts,  the  structure  of  the  lan- 
guage is  attended  to  and  the 
thoughts  of  the  authors  disre- 
garded. The  complaint  seems 
to  me  partly  just,  and  in  this 
article  I  will  sketch  out  a  plan 
by  which  the  study  of  algebra, 
for  example,  might  be  made  not 
only  to  sharpen  the  reason,  but 
to  train  the  critical  faculties 
213 


2T4        ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA. 

and  elevate  the  human  soul. 
Professor  Packard  once  told  his 
class  that  the  curriculum  had 
made  no  provision  for  the  cul- 
ture of  the  imagination.  How 
much  might  be  done  in  that 
way,  even  in  pure  mathematics, 
by  a  proper  mode  of  treatment 
will  be  seen  perhaps  from  the 
following  outlines  of  a  course. 

A  late  ingenious  writer  has 
tried  to  show  that  the  false 
science  of  alchemy  was  only  a 
covert  way  of  expressing,  by 
means  of  a  symbolism,  truths 
in  moral  and  political  philos- 
ophy which  it  would  have  been 
unsafe  in  the  Middle  Ages  to 
maintain  openly.  An  analyti- 
cal study  of  algebra  will  develop 
the  fact  that,  underlying  its 
artificial  symbolism,  its  alpha- 
betical triflings,  its  obscure,  and, 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.        215 

to  many,  meaningless  formulae, 
there  lies  a  life-drama  of  dark 
and  stormy  passions — a  tale  of 
fate,  of  crime,  of  temptation 
and  fall.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  the  science  is  of 
Oriental,  of  Arabian  origin. 
The  Oriental  mind  takes  pleas- 
ure in  mystic  and  figurative 
methods  of  expression,  and  it 
may  well  be  that  this  method 
has  been  taken  of  preserving, 
under  the  forms  of  a  language 
whose  true  import  is  revealed 
to  a  few  choice  spirits  in  every 
age,  one  of  that  body  of  legends 
almost  coeval  with  the  race — 
the  folk-lore  of  the  East.  It  is 
a  tale  of  the  triumph  of  the 
strong  over  the  weak ;  the  evil 
over  the  good ;  the  tempter 
over  the  tempted ;  the  Mephis- 
topheles  over  the  Faust. 


2l6        ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA, 

It  will  be  seen  that  among 
the  various  writers  who  have 
treated  the  subject,  under  some 
minor  differences  of  style  and 
statement,  there  is  a  general 
agreement  as  to  the  relative 
position  of  the  two  central  per- 
sonages of  the  drama — the  char- 
acters of  A  and  B.  What  this 
relation  exactly  is,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say.  It  is  usually  indi- 
cated numerically.  Sometimes 
it  is  expressed  in  terms  of  the 
mysterious  and  unknown  quan- 
tity ;r,  which  the  reader  is  al- 
ways requested  to  find,  but 
which,  if  found  at  all  (which  is 
rarely  the  case),  resolves  itself 
into  some  number  as  baffling 
to  the  curiosity  as  the  number 
of  the  Beast  in  Revelation. 
What  light  does  it  shed  on  x 
to  discover  that  ^=14,  or  that 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.         217 

•r=:'V/2na?  Then  too  x  is  usu- 
ally variable,  sometimes  infi- 
nite, not  seldom  imaginary  or 
absurd.  It  has  indeed  been 
directly  asserted  that  the  rela- 
tion of  A  to  B  was  as  /  to  p': 
but  what  was  pf  what  was  p'f 
The  clew  to  this  cipher  is  cer- 
tainly far  from  ascertained. 

For  these  reasons  it  is  advis- 
able in  the  aesthetic  study  of 
algebra  to  neglect  the  long 
pages  of  statistics  or  figurative 
matter  which  form  the  bulk  of 
most  treatises.  They  shed  no 
light  on  our  researches.  It  is 
only  in  the  problems,  or  what 
may  be  called  the  letter-press 
of  the  work,  that  we  find  any 
consistent  and  rational  state- 
ments about  A  and  B.  Even 
here  the  cautious  and  singularly 
non-committal  manner  of  the 


218        ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA. 

historian  leaves  much  untold. 
Algebra  may  be  called  like 
rhetoric  "a  science  of  hints 
and  suggestions*' — or  better,  a 
science  of  puzzles  and  riddles. 
The  sphinxy  chronicler  makes 
a  guarded  statement,  and  then 
suddenly  asks  a  question  which 
often  seems  to  have  no  connec- 
tion at  all  with  the  previous 
statement.  Almost  every  sen- 
tence ends  with  an  interroga- 
tion point. 

From  these  materials,  how- 
ever, meager  as  they  are,  the 
following  general  results  may 
be  gained  as  to  the  character 
and  relations  of  A  and  B.  B  is 
the  hero  of  the  drama.  He 
seems  to  be  a  man  of  fine  feel- 
ings, of  a  generous  and  social, 
open  and  confiding  nature,  but 
of  a  weak  will  and  easily  influ- 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.       2ig 

enced.  We  find  him  with  a 
kind  of  humorous  benevolence 
repeatedly  distributing  coppers 
in  geometrical  progression  to 
the  poor.  He  seems  to  be  the 
careless  and  good-humored  gen- 
tleman referred  to  by  Mr.  Tod- 
hunter  on  page  208  of  his  Alge- 
bra. "A  gentleman  sends  a  lad 
into  the  market  to  buy  a  shil- 
ling's worth  of  oranges.  The 
lad  having  eaten  a  couple,  the 
gentleman  pays  at  the  rate  of 
a  penny  for  fifteen  more  than 
the  market  price/*  etc.  His 
easy  credulity  and  recklessness 
seem  to  have  led  him  into  ex- 
travagance and  folly.  We  find 
him  speculating  in  city  real  es- 
tate, investing  x  dollars  in  rect- 
angular lots  containing  m 
square  feet.  He  seems  to  have 
fallen  in  with  the  sporting  ring 


220       ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA. 

and  to  have  run  around  islands 
on  a  wager — always  losing;  to 
have  invested  in  lotteries — 
always  drawing  blanks :  the 
chances  of  his  drawing  a  prize 
being  usually  represented  as 
n :  m — no  doubt  ridiculously 
small. 

On  the  other  hand  A,  the 
lagOj  the  Mephistopheles,  the 
devil  of  the  plot,  is  painted  as 
a  man  of  a  secret,  reserved 
and  tortuous  mind.  Contrast 
the  open-hearted,  unsuspecting 
frankness  of  B  with  the  shuf- 
fling evasions  of  A's  answers  to 
the  simplest  question.  Thus 
A  being  asked  by  B  how  old 
he  is,  replies  "m  times  the  cube 
of  C's  age  =-jj  of  the  square 
root  of  my  own."  Whenever 
A  and  B  are  brought  into  con- 
tact, the  former  is  represented 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.         221 

as  the  superior  in  mental  and 
bodily  strength.  In  those  nu- 
merous and  mysterious  trips 
which  they  are  perpetually  tak- 
ing between  two  places  distant 
x  miles  from  each  other,  A 
always  accomplishes  the  jour- 
ney in  one  mth  of  the  time  that 
B  does.  A  always  performs 
with  ease  in  the  incredibly 
short  period  of  n  days  that 
piece  of  work  which  the  indo- 
lent B  requires  fully  m  days  to 
complete.  At  an  early  period 
in  their  history,  A  seems  to 
have  laid  B  under  some  dread- 
ful obligation,  or  to  have  dis- 
covered some  terrible  secret 
which  places  the  latter  wholly 
in  his  power.  The  power  thus 
obtained  he  uses  with  remorse- 
less cruelty.  He  persuades  B 
to  invest  his  money  in  partner- 


222        ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA. 

ships  where  B  contributes  m 
dollars  to  A's  n.  He  extorts 
hush  money  from  him  in  sums 
of  500,  1000,  nay,  even  y  dol- 
lars! With  a  fiendish  humor, 
he  pretends  to  regard  these 
installments  of  blackmail  as 
loans — loans  of  pure  accommo- 
dation for  t  months  and  at  r 
per  cent,  interest — of  course 
never  paid. 

What  the  secret  of  this  in- 
fluence was  we  cannot  say. 
Was  there  a  woman  in  the 
case?  There  is  something  in 
the  character  of  C — a  personage 
occasionally  introduced — which 
leads  to  the  suspicion  that  she 
was  a  woman.  Thus,  on  page 
474  of  Todhunter  we  are  told, 
''It  is  3  to  i  that  A  speaks 
truth,  6  to  I  that  B  does,  and 
I  to  3  that  C  does.  What  is 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.        223 

the  probability  that  an  event 
took  place  which  A  asserts  to 
have  happened,  and  which  B 
and  C  deny?"  Three  conclu- 
sions seem  to  be  justified  by 
this  statement: 

1.  The     remarkable    natural 
deceitfulness   of   C  points   not 
doubtfully  to  her  sex. 

2.  B  appears  by  this  time  to 
have  become  involved  in  a  train 
of  prevarications   made  neces- 
sary perhaps  by  his  attempts  to 
conceal  the  secret  referred  to, 
and  to  have  lost  a  portion  of 
his  natural  truthfulness. 

"  Oh,  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave 
When  first  we  practice  to  deceive  !  " 

But  even  so,  his  word  is  more 
to  be  trusted  than  the  organic 
duplicity  of  A. 

3.  The  above  problem  seems 


224       ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA. 

to  have  presented  itself  to  the 
mind  of  B  while  endeavoring  to 
free  himself  from  the  toils  of 
A.  He  reflects  whether  his 
own  word,  coupled  with  that  of 
C,  may  outweigh  (possibly  in  a 
court  of  justice)  the  unsup- 
ported testimony  of  A.  He  is 
tempted  to  cast  off  his  thrall- 
dom  and  boldly  deny  the 
"event"  obscurely  alluded  to, 
which  can  be  no  other  than  the 
terrible,  possibly  guilty  secret 
which  A  uses  to  his  destruction. 
If  any  such  plan  of  relief  pre- 
sents itself  to  his  mind,  he  is  too 
weak  to  carry  it  out.  He  falls 
more  and  more  hopelessly  into 
the  toils,  and  struggles  less  and 
less.  The  malign  influence  of 
A  becomes  stronger  as  the 
drama  sweeps  to  its  catas- 
trophe. B  invests  with  increas- 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.        225 

ing  recklessness  in  the  lots  and 
lotteries.  He  probably  also 
takes  to  drink,  for  we  read  of 
''hogsheads,  one  of  wine  and 
one  of  beer,  with  cubical  con- 
tents as  my  n,  and  exhausted 
respectively  at  the  rate  of  x  and 
y  quarts  per  diem." 

Toward  the  close  of  his  mel- 
ancholy career,  A  gets  him  into 
gambling.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  he  is  no  match  for  the  lat- 
ter. The  chapter  on  "prob- 
ability" is  nothing  more  or  less 
than  an  account  of  his  losses  at 
cards  and  dice  to  this  Hon. 
Deuce  ace.  Thus  on  page  468, 
problem  27,  "two  persons,  A 
and  B,  engage  in  a  game  in 
which  A's  skill  is  to  B's  as  3  to 
2.  Find  the  chance  of  A's 
winning  at  least  3  games  out  of 
5."  Sometimes  there  seems  to 


226        ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA. 

be  a  pool  in  which  several  en- 
gage— possibly  one  D,  a  char- 
acter who  appears  but  seldom, 
and  seems  to  be  a  tool  of  A's, 
was  present  among  others.  On 
page  470  we  have  a  description 
of  one  of  these  friendly  games. 
"In  a  bag  are  n  balls  of  m 
colors,  p  being  of  the  first  color, 
/3  of  the  second  color  .  .  .  pm 
of  the  mth  color.  If  the  balls  be 
drawn  out  one  by  one,  what  is 
the  chance  that  all  the  balls  of 
the  first  color  will  be  drawn, etc  ?" 
The  catastrophe  of  the  drama 
is  shrouded  in  impenetrable 
night.  What  was  the  fate  of  A, 
of  B,  of  C,  of  all  the  rest  of  the 
alphabet,  including  old  Izzard, 
"that  gray-haired  man  of  glee?" 
I  cannot  say :  but  enough  has 
been  done  toward  resolving  the 
enigma  to  show  how  much 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.        227 

would  be  accomplished  by  a 
critical  study  of  algebra  in  its 
aesthetic  relations,  disregarding 
those  tables  of  meaningless 
signs  and  formulae  which  are 
made  the  sole  object  of  study 
under  the  present  false,  disci- 
plinary system. 

"The  limits  of  this  introduc- 
tion," as  Mr.  Buckle  would  say, 
forbid  me  to  do  more  than  indi- 
cate how  valuable  the  same 
method  of  treatment  would  be 
if  employed,  for  instance,  on 
"Arnold's  Latin  Prose  Compo- 
sition." Balbus,  Caius,  and 
even  Titus  Manlius,  the  nobilis- 
simus  juvenis,  would  be  no 
longer  mere  pegs  to  hang  in- 
struction upon,  but  living, 
breathing  souls  like  the  gener- 
ous, the  gentle,  but  alas!  the 
unhappy  and  fallen  B. 


"OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL." 

[CONTRIBUTED  BY  HUDSON.] 

|]HE  rummager  among 
top  shelves  of  old  libra- 
ries unearths  a  set  of 
curious  fossils  belonging  to  the 
literary  deposits  of  the  earlier 
half  of  this  century.  These  are 
the  Annuals,  octavos  with  gilt- 
edged  leaves,  and  bindings 
embossed  with  leaf-and-flower 
patterns.  Their  backs  are 
stamped  with  such  titles  as  the 
following:  "The  Gem,"  "The 
Token,"  "  The  Wreath,"  "  The 
Casket,"  "Friendship's  Offer- 
ing," "The  Rose  of  Sharon." 
Open  them  ;  what  do  you  find  ? 
228 


44  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL:'*      229 

A  frontispiece — copperplate — 
with  a  veil  of  tissue  paper,  be- 
hind which  languishes  "  Julia," 
or  simpers  "  The  Nun."  A 
vignette  title — vase  of  roses  and 
convolvuluses ;  other  engrav- 
ings— "  The  Sisters  ";  "  Scene 
on  the  Hudson  ";  "  The  Decla- 
ration "  (village  maid  at  cottage 
door ;  latticed  windows  ;  spin- 
ning-wheel ;  wicker  bird-cage ; 
woodbine ;  distant  spire ;  lover 
in  Highland  costume). 

Then  for  contents  there  is  an 
ode  by  Mrs.  Sigourney,  per- 
haps "  To  a  Shred  of  Linen  "  : 

<4O  shred." 

There  is  a  sonnet  by  Park 
Benjamin ;  a  sacred  poem  by 
N.  P.  Willis.  There  are  other 
poems — "  Joan  of  Arc";  "Jeph- 
tha's  Daughter  ";  many  "  Stan- 


230        "  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL^ 

zas  "  and  "  Lines,"  "  Vents  to 
the  Heart,"  or  "  Leaves  from 
the  Volume  of  Life/'  all  written 
with  much  pomp  of  blank  verse 
and  exclamation  point  by  Ag- 
nes Strickland,  Miss  Edgarton, 
Miss  Dodd,  and  other  Misses 
and  Mrses.  "  nameless  here  for- 
evermore."  They  start  out 
with  great  energy  of  invocation, 
as 

"  Ay,  lady  !  braid  thy  jeweled  hair, 
And  dight  thee  in  thy  rich  array  !  " 

or  of  aspiration,  as 

"  Oh,   for  the  pomp  of  waters  !    for 

the  roar 
Of  waves  infuriate  ! " 

Then,  for  prose,  there  are  ro- 
mantic tales  :  "  The  Brigand's 
Daughter ";  "  The  Faithful 
Page";  " The  Bramin's  Well"; 


"OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL."         231 

"  The  Astrologer  ";  opening, 
it  may  be,  with  some  such  pas- 
sage as  this :  "  It  was  a  large 
and  lofty  apartment  in  the 
tower  of  an  ancient  castle, 
where  the  pale  astrologer  sat 
among  his  astral  instruments 
and  his  heavy  tomes  alone/' 
Tome,  by  the  way,  is  "  nuts  "  to 
the  Annual  writers ;  no  astrolo- 
ger's library  should  be  without 
one,  and  even  an  alchemist 
should  have  a  few  tomes  lying 
around  among  his  retorts  and 
crucibles.  The  tome  is  to  the 
mere  book  as  the  "  shallop  "  or 
"  pinnace "  is  to  the  prosaic 
rowboat.  I  should  like  to  see 
a  shallop,  I  have  read  of  so 
many. 

Besides  the  tales,  there  are 
moral  and  instructive  pieces, 
such  as  "  Human  Life,"  or 


232          "  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL." 

"  Copernicus/'       Also,      short 
rhapsodies  in  prose,  as  thus : 

"  NIGHT. 
4 'Bv  HENRY  C.   LEONARD. 

"  The  sun  hath  set,  and  Night  comes 
with  her  silent  step.  I  behold  her  sable 
curtains  falling  and  darkening  the 


and  so  on  for  a  page. 

In  the  preface  the  modest 
editor  says :  "  It  is  hardly  be- 
coming in  us  to  allude  individu- 
ally to  the  contents  of  this  vol- 
ume. We  believe  none  is  with- 
out its  value.  Yet  it  is  difficult 
to  refrain  from  inviting  the 
attention  of  the  younger  por- 
tion of  our  female  readers  to 
the  character  of  '  Emma/  so 
beautifully  and  truthfully  por- 
trayed by  the  pen  of  one  who 


'•OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL."         233 

had  frequent  access  to  the  inner 
sanctuary  of  her  being." 

Dear  old  silly  Annuals!  I 
like  their  naive  sentimentality, 
their  majestic  emptiness,  their 
skin-deep  Byronism,  their  feeble 
echoes  of  the  medievalism  of 
Walter  Scott,  here  in  Yankee 
Land,  where  the  well  sweep 
and  the  chip  pile  in  the  back 
yard  had  not  yet  elbowed  the 
ivy-mantled  tower  out  of  liter- 
ature. 

It  amuses  this  generation  to 
think  that  the  Annuals  were 
written  and  read  by  grown  up 
men  and  women.  The  Ameri- 
can mind,  shrewd  enough  on 
the  practical  side,  was,  indeed, 
in  the  callow  stage  in  the  item 
of  taste.  Nevertheless,  the 
humble  Annuals  are  a  part  of 
our  literary  history.  They  led 


234        "OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL." 

a  center  table  existence  in 
times  when  the  effusions  of 
"  L.  E.  L."  were  copied  widely 
into  young  ladies*  albums,  and 
"  More  Droppings  from  the 
Pen  that  wrote  Proverbial 
Philosophy/'  continued  to  drib- 
ble on  the  still  unworn  stone  of 
popular  endurance.  The  in- 
frequent piano  was  small  but 
upright  (that  poor  creature, 
Melodeon,  was  not,  as  yet),  and 
it  resounded  alternately  to  the 
songs  of  Morris  and  of  Moore  ; 
to  "Near  the  Lake  where 
Droops  the  Willow,"  and  to 
"The  Harp  that  Once  thro' 
Tara's  Halls."  The  senti- 
ments of  the  former  bard  were 
reflected  weekly  in  the  New 
Mirror,  side  by  side  with  the 
sprightlier  fancies  of  Willis.  As 
for  the  young  gentleman  con- 


"OUR   OWN  PERCIVAL."         235 

tributors  to  "The  Keepsake"  or 
"  The  Nosegay/*  we  have  seen 
in  Dickinson's  ivory  miniatures 
their  silk  stocks,  high-shoul- 
dered dress  coats,  marvelously 
rosy  cheeks,  impossible  blue 
eyes,  brown  »hair,  and  sweet 
smiles.  They  gave  moonlight 
serenades  on  the  guitar.  The 
lady  contributors  wore  "  mits  " 
on  their  hands  and  carried 
lockets.  They  affected  brioches 
and  divans ;  had  not  Zuleika  a 
divan  to  recline  on,  in  her  bou- 
doir at  Stamboul?  To  this 
period  belongs  Dr.  Holmes's 

"—Village  maid 
Who  worketh  woe  in  satin, 
The  graves  in  green,  the  grass  in  black, 
The  epitaph  in  Latin." 

This  was  before  Mr.  Ruskin 
had  taught  her  better. 

I  have  introduced  this  men- 


236         "OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL." 

tion  of  the  Annuals  because  they 
furnish  a  convenient  term  to 
criticism.  One  of  them — "  The 
Gem/*  Philadelphia,  1842,  is 
on  my  bookshelves,  and  Demp- 
ster in  referring  to  some  verses 
or  other  in  the  magazines  (pos- 
sibly by  Dr.  Parsons),  will  often 
describe  them  as  "  gemmy  " — 
a  word  that  connotes  much  and 
merits  a  wider  currency.  To 
one  that  knows  the  Annuals, 
for  instance,  it  might  be  a  suffi- 
cient criticism  of  Percival,  to 
say  that  he  is  gemmy.  Label 
his  poems,  "  Percivalia :  Conn. 
River  Valley ;  Gemmiferous 
Period  "  ;  and  let  the  curator  of 
our  literary  Peabody  put  them 
away  in  the  appropriate  pigeon 
hole.  There,  at  any  rate,  they 
repose,  with  or  without  label, 
in  that  readerless  limbo  of 


"OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL."         337 

"The  Poets  of  America " 
haunted  by  the  respectable 
shade  of  Mrs.  Sigourney.  To 
live  an  immortality  in  elegant 
extracts  is  even  a  more  unsub- 
stantial existence  than  to  "  sub- 
sist in  bones  and  be  but  pyra- 
midally extant."  When  they 
gild  your  covers,  prepare  your 
contents  for  oblivion. 

It  is  not  a  grateful  task  to 
raise  the  ghost  of  a  dead  repu- 
tation for  the  purpose  of  kick- 
ing it.  But  in  Percival's  case  it 
would  be  more  fair  to  say  that 
his  reputation  has  outlived  his 
readers.  This  must  be  Pro- 
fessor Lowell's  excuse  for  put- 
ting a  quietus  to  him.  Lowell's 
estimate  of  him  seems  to  me 
entirely  just,  and  I  revive  the 
topic  not  in  order  to  differ  with 
the  critic,  but  because  the  lat- 


238        «§  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL." 

ter's  essay  (published  in  "  My 
Study  Windows ")  has  pro- 
voked much  hostile  remark  in 
print  and  out.  This  was  to  be 
expected,  as  the  critic  was  a 
Harvard  man  and  the  criticised 
a  Yale  man.  Yale  men  natu- 
rally cherished  a  regard  for  Per- 
cival's  memory,  though  they 
may  not  have  taken  the  trouble 
to  read  his  verses,  and  many  of 
them  said  in  their  hearts  :  "  We 
acknowledge  that  our  college 
has  not  raised  a  large  crop  of 
rhymers.  Her  sons  have  been 
busy  with  sterner  stuff.  Our 
Quinnipiac  runs  through  pleas- 
anter  scenery  than  their  Charles, 
yet  no  one  has  told  how  it 
crooks  its  '  steel-blue  sickle ' 
among  the  meadows.  Our  boys 
died  as  bravely  for  their  country 
as  theirs,  but  our  knightly  sol- 


"OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL."         239 

diers  still  await  their  poet,  and 
meanwhile  catch  but  a  reflected 
ray  '  on  their  white  shields  of 
expectation.'  But  even  when 
our  Helicon  was  at  its  dryest, 
we  consoled  ourselves  with  one 
name.  Was  there  not  our  own 
Percival  ?  At  Cambridge  no 
occasion  lacks  its  poet.  The 
class  of  '29  has  a  little  reunion  ; 
straightway  some  verses  in  the 
Atlantic.  Emerson  addresses 
the  Phi  Beta  Kappa :  an  ode. 
Josiah  Quincy  reaches  his  I3$th 
birthday ;  more  odes.  The  air 
is  thick  with  shuttlecocks  of 
praise,  flying  from  battledore 
to  battledore.  Not  that  we 
would  pull  a  feather  from  a 
single  shuttlecock ;  but  why 
could  they  not  leave  us  our  one 
little  ewe  lamb — they  of  the 
abundant  mutton?" 


240         "  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL." 

Since  reading  the  essay  in 
question  I  have  been  through 
Percival — "  Prometheus  "  and 
all — equipped  with  a  sharpened 
pencil  for  the  marking  of  fine 
passages,  and  must  confess  that 
my  marginalia  are  scanty.  His 
poetry  is  hectic  from  first  to 
last.  If  you  want  a  bit  of 
second-hand  Byronism,  read 
"The  Suicide."  The  lines 
which  Lowell  quotes  from  "  An 
Imprecation  "  can  be  matched 
with  the  concluding  stanza  of 
the  former  piece,  directed 
against  a  worthy  Congrega- 
tional minister  who  forbade 
the  poet's  addresses  to  his 
daughter : 

4 '  And  thou,   arch-moral-murderer  !  hear 

my  curse  : 

Go  gorge  and  wallow  in  thy   priestly 
sty! 


"  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL."         241 

Than  what  thou  art  I  cannot  wish  thee 

worse  : 
Then  with  thy  kindred   reptiles,*  crawl 

and  die/' 

Lowell  has  thoroughly  dis- 
posed of  Percival's  claims  as  a 
lyrical  and  didactic  poet.  But 
the  thing  which  has  struck  me 
as  especially  strange,  in  reading 
his  verses,  is  his  failure  to  make 
his  scholarship  and  his  knowl- 
edge of  nature,  which  were  con- 
fessedly great,  contribute  of 
their  substance  to  his  descrip- 
tive poetry.  The  two  lobes  of 
his  brain — the  scientific  lobe 
and  the  poetic  lobe — appear  to 
have  worked  independently. 
His  geological  reports  are  the 
dryest  of  statistics,  and  his  verse 
is  remarkably  unsubstantial  and 
unballasted  by  facts,  allusions, 

*  Other  Congregational  ministers  ? 


242        "OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL." 

and  concrete  images.  In  tak- 
ing up  the  study  of  botany, 
geology,  and  chemistry,  it 
might  seem  as  if  he  felt  the 
need,  as  a  poet,  of  putting  some 
healthy,  natural  ground  under 
his  unsteady  muse,  just  as  bird- 
fanciers  put  bits  of  turf  in  their 
cages  for  the  larks  to  stand  on 
when  they  sing.  But  his  poetry 
remained  to  the  end  as  subject- 
ive as  ever,  and  his  nature  is 
as  gemmy  as  anything  in  the 
Annuals.  What  have  we  to  do 
in  Connecticut  with  groves, 
founts,  cots,  ruins,  leas,  shep- 
herds, zephyrs,  bowers,  nightin- 
gales, myrtles,  jessamines,  lat- 
tices, etc?  He  found  them  in 
Moore  and  not  in  New  Haven. 
We  have  few  "  groves  "  in  this 
part  of  the  world,  except  the 
haunts  of  German  picknickers. 


"OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL."        243 

Instead,^  we  have  the  native 
article— woods  :  oak,  chestnut, 
hickory,  birch,  growing  close, 
with  spindling  trunks  and 
branching  tops;  lower  down, 
dogwood,  laurel  thickets  and 
white  birch  brush  ;  lower  still,  an 
undergrowth  of  juniper,  ground 
pine,  and  the  round-leaved 
smilax.  The  next  time  that 
I  go  to  the  woods  behind 
Donald  Mitchell's  I  will  look 
for  some  "groves/'  and  if  I 
find  one,  say  of  century  oaks — 
the  trees  arranged  in  vistas, 
twelve  feet  apart ;  their  giant 
boles  springing  from  nice, 
smooth  turf;  and  deer  troop- 
ing down  the  perspective  ;  and 
if,  in  a  glade  of  this  same  grove, 
I  come  across  a  ruined  abbey 
mantled  with  real  English  ivy 
(which  has  such  work  to  "  man- 


244         "  OUR   OWN  PERCIVAL." 

tie  "  the  north  wall  of  the  col- 
lege  library),  then  I  will  ac- 
knowledge that  Percival  was 
a  great  poet  and  saw  the  world 
with  his  own  eyes. 

If  there  is  little  truth  in  his 
descriptive  poetry,  still  less  is 
there  any  of  that  higher,  imagi- 
native handling  of  nature  in 
which  the  thing  seen  is  chiefly 
beautiful  because  of  the  thing 
suggested.  There  is  no  such 
analogy  in  all  his  verses  as  in 
that  fancy  of  Lowell's  own, 
where  he  speaks  of  the  waves 
out  at  sea  as  appearing  to 
"  climb  smooth  sky-beaches  far 
and  sweet." 

It  is  fair  to  say  that  a  few  of 
Percival's  pieces  are  exceptions 
to  these  remarks.  "  The  Coral 
Grove  "  and  "  Seneca  Lake  " 
have  deservedly  obtained  a  wide 


"  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL."        245 

circulation  in  school  readers 
and  books  of  selections.  Low- 
ell's saying,  that  Percival  never 
wrote  a  rememberable  verse,  is 
not  quite  true.  The  line, 

*'  There  is  a  sweetness  in  woman's  decay," 

is  a  familiar  quotation,  though 
the  sentiment  is  characteris- 
tically sickly.  It  may  be,  too, 
from  some  association  rather 
than  from  any  rememberable 
quality  in  the  verse,  but  the 
sight  of  one  of  the  Litchfield 
lakes  at  early  morning,  or  of 
some  copy  of  Landseer's 
"  Sanctuary/'  will  invariably 
recall  to  me  the  stanza, 

'*  On  thy  fair  bosom,  silver  lake, 

The  wild  swan  spreads  his  snowy  sail, 
And  round  his  breast  the  ripples  break 
As  down  he  bears  before  the  gale." 

For      the      rest,     Percival's 


246       "  OUR  OWN  PERCIVAL." 

scholarship  was  unquestioned. 
His  life,  though  in  some  things 
weak,  was  free  and  proud  and 
a  protest  against  Philistinism. 
New  Haveners  would  not  like 
to  lose  his  picturesque  figure 
from  their  traditions.  Of  this, 
tall  and  stooping,  and  wrapped 
in  an  "  old  blue  cloak,"  the 
eye  of  fancy  may  still  catch 
glimpses,  passing  swiftly  and 
furtively  between  the  college 
buildings  in  the  dusk. 


BIFTEK  AUX  CHAMPIGNONS. 

[CONTRIBUTED  BY  PUNDERSON.] 

j|IMI,  do  you  remember — 
Don't  get  behind  your  fan- 
That  morning  in  September 
On  the  cliffs  of  Grand  Manan ; 
Where  to  the  shock  of  Fundy 
The  topmost  harebells  sway, 
(Campanula  rotundi- 
folia  :  cf.  Gray)  ? 

On  the  pastures  high  and  level, 

That  overlook  the  sea, 
Where  I  wondered  what  the  devil 

Those  little  things  could  be 
That  Mimi  stooped  to  gather, 

As  she  strolled  across  the  down, 
And  held  her  dress  skirt  rather — 

Oh,  now,  you  needn't  frown. 
247 


248    BIFTEK  A  UX  CHAMPIGNONS. 

For  you  know  the  dew  was  heavy, 
And  your  boots,  /  know,  were  thin : 

So  a  little  extra  brevi- 
ty in  skirts  was,  sure,  no  sin. 

Besides,  who  minds  a  cousin  ? 
First,  second,  even  third — 

I've  kissed  'em  by  the  dozen, 
And  they  never  once  demurred. 

"  If  one's  allowed  to  ask  it," 

Quoth  I,  "  ma  belle  couszne, 
What  have  you  in  your  basket  ?" 

(Those  baskets  white  and  green 
The  brave  Passamaquoddies 

Weave  out  of  scented  grass, 
And  sell  to  tourist  bodies 

Who  through  Mt.  Desert  pass). 

You  answered,  slightly  frowning, 

"  Put  down  your  stupid  book — 
That  everlasting  Browning  ! — 

And  come  and  help  me  look. 
Mushroom  you  spik  him  English, 

I  call  him  champignon  : 
I'll  teach  you  to  distinguish 

The  right  kind  from  the  wrong." 


BIFTEK  A  UX  CHAMPIGNONS.    249 

There  was  no  fog  on  Fundy 

That  blue  September  day  ; 
The  west  wind,  for  that  one  day, 

Had  swept  it  all  away. 
The  lighthouse  glasses  twinkled, 

The  white  gulls  screamed  and  flew, 
The  merry  sheep  bells  tinkled, 

The  merry  breezes  blew. 

The  bayberry  aromatic, 

The  papery  immortelles 
(That  give  our  grandma's  attic 

That  sentimental  smell, 
Tied  up  in  little  brush-brooms) 

Were  sweet  as  new-mown  hay, 
While  we  went  hunting  mushrooms 

That  blue  September  day. 

In  each  small  juicy  dimple 

Where  turf  grew  short  and  thick, 
And  nibbling  teeth  of  simple 

Sheep  had  browsed  it  to  the  quick ; 
Where  roots  or  bits  of  rotten 

Wood  were  strewed,  we  found  a 

few 
Young  buttons  just  begotten 

Of  morning  sun  and  dew. 


250    BIFTEK  A  UX  CHAMPIGNONS. 

And  you  compared  the  shiny, 

Soft,  creamy  skin,  that  hid 
The  gills  so  pink  and  tiny, 

To  your  gloves  of  undressed  kid, 
While  I  averred  the  color 

Of  the  gills,  within  their  sheath, 
Was  like— but  only  duller — 

The  rosy  palms  beneath. 

As  thus  we  wandered,  sporting 

In  idleness  of  mind, 
There  came  a  fearful  snorting 

And  trampling  close  behind ; 
And,  with  a  sudden  plunge,  I 

Upset  the  basketful 
Of  those  accursed  fungi, 

As  you  shrieked,  "  The  bull !    The 
bull ! " 

And  then  we  clung  together 

And  faced  the  enemy, 
Which  proved  to  be  a  wether 

And  scared  much  worse  than  we. 
But  while  that  startled  mutton 

Went  scampering  away, 
The  mushrooms — every  button — 

Had  tumbled  in  the  bay. 


BIFTEK  A  UX  CHA  MPIGNONS.    251 

The  basket  had  a  cover, 

The  wind  was  blowing  stiff, 
And  rolled  that  basket  over 

The  edges  of  the  cliff. 
It  bounced  from  crag  to  bowlder ; 

It  leaped  and  whirled  in  air, 
But  while  you  clutched  my  shoulder 

I  did  not  greatly  care. 

I  tried  to  look  as  rueful 

As  though  each  mushroom  there 
Had  been  a  priceless  truffle, 

But  yet  I  did  not  care. 
And  ever  since  that  Sunday 

On  the  cliffs  of  Grandma  Nan, 
High  over  the  surf  of  Fundy, 

I've  used  the  kind  they  can. 


WHAT'S  IN  A  NAME? 

[CONTRIBUTED  BY  DEMPSTER.] 

HE  legislature  passed  a  law, 
Arkan'sas  should  be  Ar'kan- 

saw. 

'Tis  well ;  and  if  I  had  my  way, 
lo'wa  should  be  I'oway. 
To  men  who  deal  in  real  estate 
The  difference  may  not  seem  so  great 
'Twixt  ante — and  penultimate — 
'Twixt  tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee ; 
But  they  who  deal  in  poesie 
Are  fain  to  make  their  boatman  row 
Euphonious  "  down  the  O'hio." 
The  name  R.  Kansas  doth  provoke 
A  cacographic  A.  Ward  joke. 
lo'we  a,  too  !     The  sound  begets 
Abortive  puns  on  bonded  debts, 
lo'wa's  not  a  state  of  grace  : 
I  wouldn't  live  in  such  a  place. 
But,  though  they're  rather  far  away, 
I  think  I'd  like  to  go  and  stay 
In  Ar'kansaw  or  I'oway. 
252 


THE    SPRINGALD  AND  THE 
CAUDA  GALLI. 

[CONTRIBUTED  BY  PUNDERSON.] 

fjOOK  here,  look  here,  bold 

bar-keepere, 

Come  mingle  a  cup  for  me  ; 
And  mingle  it  quick,  and   mingle  it 

thick, 
And  thouV  earn  a  broad  penny." 

"  O  give  it  a  name,  thou  fair  sprin-> 

gald; 

Shall  it  be  of  the  foaming  bock, 
Or    the    whisky    skin,   or    the   John 

Collins, 
Or  the  tail  of  the  gallant  cock  ?  " 

"  A  cock-tail  of  the  gin,  the  gin, 
Ymeint  both  strong  and  sweet, 

With  a  curly  chip  of  lemon  skin 
For  such  a  guest  were  meet. 
253 


254  THE  SPRINGALD. 

"  My  eyes  are  as  holes  in  a  blanket 
burnt, 

And  my  head  as  the  head  of  three, 
I  have  the  jammer  yclept  of  cat, 

For  I've  been  on  a  sheol  of  a  spree. 

"A  wet  night  maketh  a  dry  morning, 
Quoth  Hendyng, '  rede  ye  right ; 

And  the  cure  most  fair  is  the  self-same 

hair 
Of  the  dog  that  gave  the  bite/ 

"  So  whether  it  be  of  fingers  three, 

Or  else  of  fingers  two, 
I  want  it  strong  and  I  want  it  long, 

And  I  want  it  p.  d.  q." 

Then  up  and  spake  a  little  foot  page 
That  stood  by  the  barroom  door, 

Said  "  here  is  a  wight  would  speak 

with  thee 
A  minute,  but  and  no  more." 

Said  "  O  he  beareth  a  broad  letter, 
He  hath  ridden  both  fierce  and  far, 

May'st  hear  the  tramp  of  his  red  roan 

steeds 
In  the  Madison  Avenue  car." 


THE  SPRINGALD.  2$$ 

He  hath  taken  a  quill  of  the  gray  goose 
wing 

And  dipped  it  in  the  ink, 
And  written  upon  a  fair  paper 

"  I  have  spit  within  this  drink." 

He  hath  laid  the  paper  upon  the  cup, 
And  the  cup  upon  the  bar, 

And  stepped  outside  to  speak  with  the 

wight, 
Had  ridden  both  fierce  and  far. 

He  hath  broken  the  seal  of  the  broad 

letter 

And  written  a  fair  answere, 
He  hath  given  a  fee  of   the    white 

money 
To  that  district  messengere. 

He  hath  hied  him  back  to  the  bar 
again, 

And  taken  his  cock-tail  up ; 
He  hath  cast  one  look  at  the  fair  paper 

That  lay  on  the  top  of  the  cup. 

"God  save  thee,  gentle  springald, 
From   the  fiends  that  plague   thy 
soul! 


256  THE  SPRINGALD. 

Hast  got  'em  again,  or  wherefore  then 
Doth  thine  eye  so  wildly  roll  ? 

"  God  save  thee,  gentle  springald, 
From  the  fiends  that  haunt  thee 
thus! 

Why  dost  thou  tear  thy  yellow  hair  ? 
And  eke  why  dost  thou  cuss  ?  " 

"  O  barkeepere,  some  felon  here 
Hath  wrought  foul  shame  and  sin. 

Give  back,  give  back  my  broad  penny 
Or  mix  me  another  gin ; 

For  a  second  line  stands  under  mine — 
'  Eke  I  have  spit  therein.'  " 


AMOURS  PASSAGERS. 

[The  papers  read  at  the  club  were  gener- 
ally of  a  humorous  rather  than  sentimental 
intention,  but  Dempster  sometimes  wrote 
of  his  long  vacation  experiences 
"  As  though  in  Cupid's  college  he  had 
spent 

Sweet  days,  a  lovely  graduate,  still  un- 
shent, 

And  kept  his  rosy  terms  in  idle  languish- 

ment." 

Doubts  were  expressed  as  to  whether 
these  passionate  utterances  were  war- 
ranted by  the  facts,  but  the  following 
verses  of  Dempster's  are  submitted  with- 
out comment.] 

'jIGHT  loves  and  soon    for- 
gotten hates, 

>|  Heat-lightnings  of  the  brood- 
ing summer  sky — 
Ye  too  bred  of  the  summer's  heat, 
Ye  too,  like  summer,  fleet — 
Ye  have  gone  by. 

257 


25 8  AMOURS  PASSAG&RS. 

Walks  in   the  woods    and    whispers 

over  gates, 

Gay  rivalries  of  tennis  and  croquet — 
Gone  with  the  summer  sweet, 
Gone  with  the  swallow  fleet 
Southward  away ! 

Breath  of  the  rose,  laughter  of  maids 

Kissed  into  silence  by  the  setting 
moon ; 

Wind  of  the  morn  that  wakes  and 
blows, 

And  hastening  night  that  goes 

Too  soon — too  soon  ! 

Meetings  and  partings,  tokens,  sere- 
nades, 

Tears — idle  tears — and  coy  denials 
vain ; 

Flower  of  the  summer's  rose, 

Say,  will  your  leaves  unclose 

Ever  again  ? 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  A  SUB- 
FRESHMAN. 

[CONTRIBUTED  BY  HIGGINSON.] 

(]EN  of  imaginative  minds 
have  often  given  great 
weight  to  the  thoughts 
and  fancies  of  childhood. 
Goethe  insisted  that  the  pup- 
pet play  described  in  "  Wil- 
helm  Meister"  had  a  real  im- 
portance in  the  history  of  his 
development.  Wordsworth 

thought  so  seriously  of  a  child's 
early  impressions  of  the  world 
that  in  his  "  Ode  on  the  Inti- 
mations of  Immortality "  he 
seems  to  have  adopted,  almost 
in  earnest,  the  Platonic  doctrine 
of  Reminiscence.  And  indeed 


260      SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

those  first  pictures  which  the 
universe  paints  on  the  sensitive 
retina  do  have  the  air  of  belong- 
ing to  some  past  stage  of  exist- 
ence. They  lie  in  the  memory 
at  an  infinite  remove,  like  the 
miniature  objects  seen  through 
the  wrong  end  of  the  telescope 
— small,  distinct,  and  with  a  pris- 
matic play  of  color  about  their 
edges,  as  though  the  dew  were 
still  on  them  and  the  light  of 
dawn.  The  mind  soon  learns 
to  expect  no  novelties.  New 
combinations  there  may  be,  but 
the  elements  are  old.  But  in 
childhood,  before  the  alphabet 
of  experience  has  been  learned, 
there  are  new  letters  to  be 
spelled — sensations  element- 
ally new,  such  as  one  might 
have  in  mature  life  if  a  fresh 
sense  were  added.  "  Turn  the 


SUB-FRESHMA  WS  IMPRESSIONS.      261 

eyes  upside  down,"  says  Emer- 
son, "  by  looking  at  the  land- 
scape through  your  legs,  and 
how  agreeable  is  the  picture, 
though  you  have  seen  it  any 
time  these  twenty  years !  "  We 
can  play  our  imaginations  this 
pleasant  trick  no  longer ;  but, 
as  children,  what  a  novel  world 
we  secured  by  simply  rolling 
back  the  eyeballs,  as  we  lay  on 
our  backs,  till  the  room  stood 
topsy-turvy  !  A  smooth  white 
floor  was  spread  for  the  feet  of 
fancy  to  run  upon  without  let 
from  wall  to  wall.  The  well- 
known  furniture  hung  head 
downward, — tables,  chairs,  pi- 
ano, even  the  fire  in  the  grate, — 
like  a  group  of  domestic  stalac- 
tites. The  doors  had  thresh- 
olds two  feet  high.  All  was  so 
old,  yet  so  delightfully  strange  ! 


262     SUB-FRESHMA  N^S  IMPRESSIONS, 

A  loss  befalls  us  when  our 
scale  of  distances  begins  to 
change.  It  is  like  an  illusion 
of  the  special  sense  which 
happens  to  one  sitting  drowsily 
by  a  window,  who  sees  suddenly 
a  long  way  off  a  large  bird  fly- 
ing swiftly  along  the  horizon, 
but,  on  shifting  his  position, 
sees  only  an  insect  crawling  on 
the  pane  close  to  his  eye. 
Thus,  the  little  lawn  where  I 
used  to  play  was  an  ampler 
field  for  imagination  to  explore 
than  the  widest  landscape  now- 
adays. Seen  from  the  study- 
window  of  a  moonlight  Novem- 
ber night,  it  had  an  unfamil- 
iar, almost  an  unearthly,  look. 
Mysterious  shadows  haunted 
its  borders,  and  in  the  middle 
plot,  where  the  hoar-frost 
spread  a  dim  white  drugget 


SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS.      263 

under  the  moon,  I  could  uncer- 
tainly make  out  the  fairies' 
ring  circling  about  in  the  wind. 
How  different  from  that 
"  sunny  spot  of  greenery  "  on 
a  May  morning,  when  the 
lilacs  at  the  house  corner  were 
in  bloom  and  the  syringa  bushes 
at  the  gate  were  full  of  bees! 
Then  it  was  like  a  slope  in 
Arcadia,  with  gray-green  tufts 
here  and  there  among  the  grass, 
crowned  with  the  blossom  of  a 
self-sown  daffodil.  The  bright 
patch-work  quilt  lay  on  the 
ground  for  the  baby  to  play 
on,  and  the  nurse  sat  on  the 
terrace  steps  with  her  sewing, 
while  we  wove  the  dandelion 
chain. 

The  far  corner  of  the  lawn 
was  foreign  country,  and  there 
was  an  excitement  in  visiting 


264     SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

it.  It  was  there  that  the  water 
stood  longest  after  a  rain,  and 
the  turf  was  fine  and  mossy. 
It  was  strewn  with  winged 
maple-seeds  and  the  chocolate- 
brown  pods  of  the  honey  locust. 
These  products  and  the  trees 
which  shed  them  had  some- 
thing exotic  about  them  when 
compared  with  the  more  domes- 
tic flora  on  the  near  side  of  the 
lawn.  We  felt  at  home  with 
the  snowberry  bushes  under 
the  study  window,  whose  fruit 
was  our  ammunition,  and  the 
row  of  vergalieus  whose  little 
yellow  pears  we  found  in  Sep- 
tember scattered  about  in  the 
long  grass  under  the  terrace- 
bank,  their  skins  speckled  like 
trout  and  broken  into  deep 
cracks.  The  rough  bark  of  the 
pear  trees  also  afforded  coignes 


SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS.      265 

of  vantage  for  the  locusts  that 
sang  in  the  summer  noons  and 
left  their  cast  shells,  sometimes 
as  many  as  a  dozen  on  a  single 
trunk,  of  which  we  hoarded  col- 
lections in  paper  boxes.  The 
lawn  was  pleasantest  at  five 
o'clock  of  a  summer  afternoon. 
Then  long  shadows  fell  across 
the  grass,  and  we  heard  the 
distant  voices  of  the  children 
just  let  out  of  school,  and  knew 
that  presently  the  tea-bell 
would  ring  and  we  should  go 
inside  to  bread-and-butter  and 
strawberries. 

The  far  corner  under  the 
maples  gained  an  added 
mystery  from  its  being  the 
scene  of  my  initiation  into  the 
game  of  "  secrets."  A  little 
girl  among  our  playfellows 
came  to  me  one  day,  and, 


266      SUB-FRESH  MA  N  *S  IMPRESSIONS. 

whispering  solemnly,  "  Never, 
never  tell ! "  led  me  to  a  spot 
marked  by  a  flat  stone.  This 
being  raised  disclosed  a  hollow 
nest  in  the  ground  lined  with 
moss,  in  which  were  set,  in  a 
kind  of  pattern,  colored  beads, 
gilt  buttons,  bits  of  tin-foil  and 
sparkling  glass,  and  other 
glistening  "  nubbins."  It  was 
as  though  the  lid  were  lifted 
from  Golconda  and  the  won- 
ders of  the  subterranean  world 
revealed. 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said,  replac- 
ing the  stone  :  "  it's  our  secret. 
Nobody  knows  it  but  me  and 
you  and  Ella  Burkett.  It's 
our  secret — us  three/' 

No  amount  of  stock  in  rail- 
way or  mining  corporation 
could  give  me  now  half  the 
sense  of  importance  that  I  felt 


SUB-FRESHMA N *S  IMPRESSIONS.     267 

when  admitted  to  a  share  in 
that  partnership.  I  wonder 
whether  this  game  was  peculiar 
to  us,  or  whether  other  children 
still  play  at  "  secrets  "  ? 

The  same  little  Alice  who  let 
me  into  this  first  secret  lived  in 
a  house  in  our  neighborhood, 
where  I  sometimes  went  to 
play,  and  which  was  to  me  as 
a  castle  of  romance  by  reason 
of  one  architectural  feature 
in  which  it  differed  from  the 
abodes  of  prose.  Common 
dwellings  had  only  two  stair- 
cases, one  in  the  front  hall  and 
one  in  the  back  entry  for  the 
servants'  use.  But  in  that 
enchanted  mansion  was  a  third 
flight,  ascending  from  a  side- 
entry  to  the  upper  story  of  a 
wing.  At  the  turning,  half- 
way up,  was  a  stair  broad 


268     51  UB-FRESHMA  N ' 5  IMPRESSIONS 

enough  to  make  a  little  room 
of  itself,  and  over  it  a  window 
of  yellow  glass  which  shed  a 
strange  fairy  twilight  through 
the  hall.  The  wing  was  little 
used,  and  we  were  left  to  play 
alone  all  day  on  the  broad 
stair,  where  we  spread  our  toys 
and  spelled  out  our  picture- 
books.  Outside  the  window  a 
large  willow  shook  in  the  wind, 
and  the  shadow  of  its  branches 
wavered  in  the  solemn  illumi- 
nation that  lay  upon  the  floor, 
Such  tricks  as  memory  plays 
us  !  In  many  an  old  cathedral 
the  dance  of  colors  from  the 
great  oriel,  making  patterns  on 
the  pavement  of  the  nave,  has 
brought  suddenly  before  me 
little  Alice's  face,  and  the  dolls 
and  wooden  elephant  and 
leaden  soldiers,  and  the  picture 


SUB-FRESHMA N  'S  IMPRESSIONS.     269 

of  "  slovenly  Peter,"  all  trans- 
figured in  that  mystic  glory. 

But,  alas  for  young  love, — for 
even  thus  early  may  love  begin, 
— my  sweet  playmate  was  some- 
thing of  a  sloven.  Her  Shaker 
bonnet  was  always  dangling 
from  the  back  of  her  neck. 
Her  brown  hair  was  in  a  snarl. 
Her  stockings  —  which  were 
none  of  the  whitest — were  usu- 
ally down  about  her  ankles. 
Her  knuckles  and  even  her  dear 
little  knees  were  often  grimy. 
My  nurse,  a  particular  woman, 
once  said  in  my  hearing  that 
Alice  was  a  dirty  girl.  I  had 
never  noticed  this  myself,  but 
I  was  now  moved  to  a  high 
moral  disgust, — being  at  the 
time  aged  six, — and  when  Alice 
next  came  to  play  with  me  I 
said,  "  Alice  Powers,  you  are  a 


2 70     SUB-FRESHMA  N 'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

dirty  girl.  Go  home  !  I  won't 
play  with  you."  Poor  Alice 
looked  at  me  with  big  eyes,  and 
then,  bursting  into  tears  and 
flinging  down  an  apron-full  of 
horse-chestnuts  which  she  had 
brought  me  for  a  present,  went 
slowly  out  of  the  yard.  As  I 
watched  her  sobbing  shoulders 
disappear  down  the  walk,  my 
heart  misgave  me.  I  felt  that 
Alice  was  nice,  but  public  senti- 
ment had  pronounced  her  dirty. 
Conscience,  too,  gave  a  twinge 
as  I  picked  up  the  horse-chest- 
nuts— her  douceur.  They  were 
new  from  the  tree,  shining  and 
darkly  grained,  like  polished 
mahogany,  each  with  an  eye  of 
floury  white.  A  few  days  after, 
my  little  playfellow  was  taken 
with  the  croup  and  died.  I 
took  the  horse-chestnuts  up 


SUB-FRESHMA  N '  S  IMPRESSIONS.       271 

into  the  garret  and,  in  a  dark 
corner  behind  the  chimney, 
cried  over  them  all  a  rainy 
afternoon  in  an  agony  of  re- 
morse— experiencing,  even  at 
that  tender  age  the  worst  of  all 
mental  sufferings,  the  memory 
of  ingratitude  toward  one  who 
has  loved  us  and  has  gone  for- 
ever beyond  the  reach  of  our 
atonement. 

When  the  child  grows  old 
enough  to  read,  its  imagination 
has  a  wider  reach,  but  becomes 
less  original.  It  reproduces  its 
favorite  books  in  its  sports. 
From  say  nine  to  eleven  the 
minds  of  all  the  boys  in  our 
neighborhood  were  under  the 
tyranny  of  "  The  Scalp- 
hunters  "  and  "  The  Last  of  the 
Mohicans,"  and  our  chief  out- 
of-door  pastime  was  to  play 


272     SUB-FRESHMA  N  'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

Indian.  Assuming  the  names 
of  Chingachgook,  Haw  key  ey 
Uncas,  Seguin,  St.  Vrain,  etc., 
we  ranged  the  vicinage  in  war 
parties,  emitting  whoops,  dart- 
ing our  wooden  lances  into  the 
quivering  bodies  of  the  ever- 
greens, and  laying  ambushes 
behind  hedges.  Our  belts 
bristled  with  bunches  of  grass, 
the  scalps  of  imaginary  Min- 
goes  and  Navajoes,  mingled 
together  in  cheerful  defiance 
of  ethnology  —  although  the 
lodge  of  a  big  sagamore  in 
the  Algonkin  tongues,  who 
could  have  taught  us  bet- 
ter, lay  right  in  our  war  path. 
Sometimes  we  were  treed  by 
peccaries  in  the  big  apple  tree. 
In  the  deep  and  parlous  can- 
yon behind  the  gooseberry 
bushes  we  were  attacked  by 


SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS.      2J3 

twenty-five  grizzlies.  We 
scoured  on  fleet  mustangs  over 
the  broad  prairies  grazed  by 
Deacon  Barlow's  cow,  slaying 
buffaloes  and  Comanches.  We 
held  the  abandoned  hen  house 
for  a  whole  summer  day — 
though  sorely  wounded — 
against  a  besieging  party  of 
Apaches,  who  shot  burning 
arrows  into  the  walls  and  tried 
every  other  stratagem  which 
hellish  cunning  or  the  resources 
of  Captain  Mayne  Reid's  im- 
agination could  invent.  This 
play  was  never  popular  with 
the  girls,  who  were  forced  to  be 
squaws  and  prepare  our  venison 
in  the  wigwam — the  area  of 
the  cellar  door — while  we  were 
off  on  hunting  or  war  parties. 
Often,  on  returning  at  evening, 
laden  with  spoils,  we  found 


274      SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

that  the  squaws  had  betaken 
themselves  to  other  games,  and 
we  had  to  recall  them  to  their 
domestic  duties. 

Indoors,  a  favorite  plaything 
was  the  spool-basket,  and  the 
favorite  game  that  we  played 
with  it  was  a  kind  of  original 
jack-straws.  The  basket  being 
inverted,  about  half  a  bushel  of 
brick-shaped  blocks  and  spools 
of  all  sizes  and  colors  tumbled 
gently  into  a  heap.  From  this 
mountain,  resembling  the  lava- 
pits  of  the  Modocs,  and  repre- 
senting chaos  or  the  dawn  of 
history,  the  tribes  of  men  were 
slowly  to  extricate  themselves. 
The  white  spools  were  the  Cau- 
casian race,  the  red  spools  the 
Indians,  the  yellow,  the  Mon- 
gols, and  the  black,  the  Afri- 
cans. Such  of  these  as  rolled 


SUB-FRESHMA  N  'S  IMPRESSIONS.      275 

out  upon  the  floor  at  the  over- 
turning of  the  basket,  or  could 
be  extricated  from  the  heap 
without  displacing  the  blocks, 
gathered  into  bands  and  fought 
each  other,  or  sailed  away  on 
block  rafts  over  the  tranquil 
surface  of  the  play-room  carpet 
to  green  isles  under  the  table, 
and  edges  of  new-risen  conti- 
nents along  the  lounge,  where 
they  founded  colonies.  Gradu- 
ally those  who  lay  deeper  in 
the  mountain,  overwhelmed 
in  a  sort  of  Dantesque  hell, 
emerged  through  openings  be- 
tween the  bowlders,  and  formed 
the  obstructions  about  them 
into  ramparts.  Finally  the 
whole  mass  was  reduced  into 
ordered  lines  of  fortification, 
the  scattered  bands  united  into 
allied  nations,  and  the  whole 


276      SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

ended  in  a  Volksschlacht,  where 
the  long  cylinders  of  carpet- 
thread  spools  served  as  cannon, 
and  the  air  was  darkened  by 
shot  and  shell  composed  of  the 
little  paper  sewing-silk  spools. 

In  days  somewhat  younger 
than  those,  a  main  resource  was 
the  kitchen,  whose  unrestrained 
life  contrasted  gayly  with  the 
stiff  proprieties  of  the  parlor. 
Our  kitchen  had  a  stone  step  at 
the  threshold  of  the  dining-room 
door,  where  a  cricket  sometimes 
sang,  that  dwelt  in  a  neighbor- 
ing cranny.  Here  I  would  sit 
after  supper,  between  the  ser- 
vants' table  and  the  wooden 
bench  under  which  were  ranged 
my  uncle's  shoes — twenty  shoes 
precisely  alike,  which  he  wore 
in  succession,  beginning  at  one 
end  of  the  row  and  making  a 


SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS.      277 

complete  revolution  in  ten  days. 
Over  the  bench  hung  his  shoe- 
horn on  a  nail,  and  over  this 
was  a  shelf  with  a  lantern 
and  footstove.  Beyond  was 
the  cellar  door,  which,  when 
opened  of  a  dark  night,  gave 
admission  to  abysses  of  mys- 
tery into  which  the  imagina- 
tion plunged  with  a  pleasing 
shudder.  Here  I  would  sit,  I 
say,  and  listen  to  the  gabble  of 
the  girls  as  they  slowly  stirred 
their  tea,  absorbing  it  with  loud 
gulps  and  masticating  their 
buttered  toast  with  a  crunching 
and  chonking  sound  most  fasci- 
nating to  the  ear.  The  conver- 
sation was  usually  discontinu- 
ous, and  abounded  in  rather 
abrupt  reflections,  such  as — 
"  Tis  three  years,  come  Tues- 
day week,  since  I  left  the  old 


278     SUB-FRESHMA  N  'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

country.  Dear,  dear !  Where'll 
I  be  this  day  twelvemonth  ?  " 

To  this  there  would  be  no 
reply,  but  the  other  would  say 
presently,  gazing  at  the  tea- 
grounds  in  the  bottom  of  her 
empty  cup,  "What's  my  for- 
tune?" 

"  I  see  an  old  man  sitting  in 
a  chair." 

"  No,  but  'tis  not,  then  ;  'tis 
a  big  house  on  a  hill  that  ye 
see." 

"  Sure  I've  a  purse  in  mine." 
Etc.,  etc. 

Often  I  besought  them  for 
tales  of  Ireland,  which  I  con- 
ceived of  from  their  report  as  a 
wondrous  green  land  of  faery. 
On  Pancake  Thursday,  when 
they  baked  a  ring  in  a  cake  and 
the  kitchen  was  full  of  gossips 
who  came  to  the  cutting,  these 


SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS.      279 

stories  most  abounded.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  definite  reper- 
tory of  them,  known  by  name 
to  the  natives — for  they  would 
be  called  for  under  their  titles, 
like  favorite  songs  at  a  glee — as, 
"  Have  ye  '  The  White  Lady  of 
Blackrock  Castle  '  ?  "  or,  "  Have 
e'er  o'  yez  '  The  Yellow  Wa- 
thers'?" 

I  can  remember  nothing  of 
them  beyond  the  vague  out- 
lines of  one,  in  which  a  girl 
who  is  sitting  in  a  tree  at  twi- 
light hears  her  lover,  under- 
neath, plotting  with  another 
man  to  take  her  life,  and  after- 
ward, in  a  company  where  her 
lover  is  present,  says  that  she 
has  a  riddle  to  tell :  "  I  dreamed 
a  dream  that  the  fox  was  dig- 
ging a  grave  for  me  under  the 
tree  in  the  woods.  And  I 


280     SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

dreamed  that  the  fox  fell  into 
the  hole  that  he  was  digging." 
The  conclusion  of  the  history 
has  gone  from  me. 

I  remember  once  being  taken 
into  the  fields  to  hunt  for 
shamrock  by  one  of  my  nurses, 
a  fresh-faced  young  thing,  just 
over,  whom  we  called  Fat 
Janey.  It  was  on  some  saint's 
day,  or  some  Irish  anniversary, 
and  there  was  some  sentimental 
or  superstitious  rite  that  she 
wanted  to  perform  with  the 
mystic  trefoil.  I  have  forgot- 
ten the  exact  nature  of  it — per- 
haps putting  it  under  her  pil- 
low to  dream  upon,  as  is  done 
with  the  wedding  cake.  At  all 
events,  I  remember  that  she 
had  to  content  herself  with  our 
common  clover ;  and  I  recall 
her  voice  distinctly  as  she  went 


SUB-FRESHMA  N ' S  IMPRESSIONS.      281 

searching  through  the  fields — 

The  long  gray  fields  at  night, 

for  it  was  toward  evening — 
crooning  one  of  those  wild, 
monotonous,  tuneless  chants 
that  the  maids  sing  while  hang- 
ing out  their  clothes.  Some  of 
the  girls  knew  a  few  scraps  of 
Gaelic,  and  would  teach  me  to 
repeat  them.  I  have  forgotten 
all  but  two  sentences,  which 
sounded  like  "  Conny  sthon 
thu,"  and  "Tan  da  maw," 
(The  spelling  is  strictly  pho- 
netic, and  I  haven't  the  least 
notion  what  the  words  mean.) 
I  now  suspect  that  they  occa- 
sionally took  advantage  of  my 
innocence — for  they  would 
make  me  say  over  phrases 
which  they  declared  meant, 
"  How  do  ye  do  ?  "  or,  "  Give 


282      SUB-JTREStf MAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

me  a  kiss/'  and  would  laugh 
immoderately  when  I  repeated 
them,  and  cry,  "  Listen  to  the 
child  !  " 

A  cook  that  we  once  had, 
named  Nora,  possessed  great 
dramatic  talent.  She  was  a 
large,  handsome  woman,  from 
the  south  of  Ireland,  with  a 
mass  of  blue-black  hair.  She 
would  let  this  down  over  her 
shoulders,  and,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  kitchen,  carving 
knife  in  hand,  roll  her  fine  dark 
eyes  and  recite  the  following 
dialogue,  taking  both  parts 
alternately : 

She. 
Would  ye  not  have  a  wife  both  fair  and 

young, 

Could  speak  the  French  and  the  I-talian 
tongue  ? 

He. 

No.     One  language   is  enough  for  any 
woman  to  speak  ; 


SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS.      283 

And  before  I'd  be  governed  by  such  a 

wife, 
I'd  take  the  sword  and  end  me  life. 

[Stabs  himself  with  carving  knife,  and 
fall  supine  on  kitchen  floor.] 
She.— 

[Rising  nimbly  from  floor,  and  stand" 
ing  over  his  imaginary  body.~\ 
Alas !  alas  !     Thin  I  fear  'tis  true — 
So  111  take  the  sword  and  end  me  life 
too. 

[Stabs  herself,  and  falls  in  like manner .] 

She  pronounced  the  w  in 
"  sword  "  distinctly. 

The  servants'  cousins  or  fol- 
lowers were  an  unfailing  spring 
of  fresh  interest.  From  the 
dining  room  I  could  hear  a  low 
rumble  of  talk  in  the  kitchen, 
announcing  the  arrival  of  some 
John  or  Patrick.  On  going  out 
there,  I  always  found  him  sit- 
ting uncomfortably  straight  on 
one  particular  chair,  under 
which  his  hat  was  deposited,  and 


284      SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

dressed  in  black  clothes,  which 
also  suggested  discomfort  and 
unwontedness.  It  was  matter 
of  speculation  with  me  why  the 
young  and  pretty  girls  had 
hardly  any  followers,  while 
those  who  were  uncommonly 
old  or  ugly  were  wooed  most 
assiduously.  Perhaps  the  old 
ones  had  property.  One  lean 
and  tushy  hag,  named  Cathe- 
rine, who  lived  with  us  several 
years,  was  very  confidential 
with  me  about  her  suitors. 
She  was  torn  between  two. 
The  first  was  an  absurdly  young 
fellow,  with  a  fresh,  pleasant 
face.  He  was  at  least  ten  years 
her  junior,  and  courted  her  per- 
severingly,  but  without  much 
encouragement.  She  spoke  of 
him  as  "  the  lad,"  and  evidently 
inclined  toward  his  rival,  a 


SUB-FRESH  MA  N '  S  IMPRESSIONS.      285 

steady  man,  with  a  red  beard, 
who  weighed  mentally  about 
a  ton.  She  told  me  that  this 
latter  one  was  rich,  but  that  he 
had  no  religion.  "  He  is  like  a 
baste  of  the  field,"  she  said. 
Nothing  but  this  lack  of  spirit- 
uality seemed  to  make  her  hes- 
itate between  him  and  the  other. 
Another  cook  that  we  had,  held 
her  head  very  high  because  she 
might  have  married,  had  she 
chosen,  "a  widow-man  in  the 
old  country,  with  a  jaunting- 
car." 

The  natural  inclination  of 
children  toward  fetichism,  or 
the  reading  of  a  soul  into  inani- 
mate things,  is  a  matter  of 
common  note.  The  letters  of 
the  alphabet  all  have  an  expres- 
sion for  them  like  persons' 
faces.  E  is  a  belligerent,  con- 


286      SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

ceited,  positive  character ;  F  is 
sly,  sneaking,  with  a  smirk  on 
his  thin  face;  and  so  on. 
David  Copperfield  identified  a 
certain  washstand  with  Mrs. 
Gummidge.  Hans  Andersen, 
who  retained  the  child's  habit 
of  mind  all  through  life,  per- 
sonifies in  his  story-books  tops, 
balls,  and  other  playthings,  pre- 
cisely as  children  do.  It  is  the 
same  with  articles  of  furniture : 
to  an  imaginative  child  every 
room  has  an  expression  of  its 
own,  and  the  things  in  it  are 
not  dead,  but  have  a  kind  of 
life  and  humanity.  There  will 
be  little  unnoticed  nooks  and 
corners  of  the  house  that  have 
a  peculiar  significance  to  him — 
some  recess  that  he  likes  to  sit 
In,  some  unused  shelf  or  cubby. 
Oddities  of  architecture  attract 


SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS.      287 

him — such  as  a  space  left  here 
and  there,  a  corner  cut  off,  a 
step  up  or  down  from  room  to 
room,  a  roof  that  slopes  to  the 
floor,  a  closet  of  irregular  shape. 
Ledges  are  formed  by  projec- 
tions or  moldings,  on  which  he 
will  range  pennies  or  candies  in 
a  row  and  leave  them  there  till 
he  forgets  them,  and  comes 
upon  them  another  day  with  all 
the  excitement  of  a  fresh  dis- 
covery. 

One  of  the  best  touches  in 
"  Tom  Brown's  School  Days  at 
Rugby  "  is  where  East  describes 
to  Tom  Brown  the  pleasures  of 
the  Rugby  institution  known 
as  "  singing/'  After  supper,  in 
the  summer  twilight,  the  big 
boys  sit  about  the  tables  in 
the  little  fives-court  under  the 
library,  and  sing  and  drink 


288      SUB-FRESHMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS. 

beer;  while  the  little  boys 
"  cut  about  the  quadrangle  be- 
tween the  songs,  and  it  looks 
like  a  lot  of  robbers  in  a  cave." 
The  man  who  wrote  that  knew 
the  heart  of  a  boy.  Is  there 
perchance  in  this  part  of  the 
world  any  man  who  cannot  re- 
call the  bliss  that  filled  him  at, 
say,  the  age  of  ten,  when  the 
evenings  began  to  grow  long 
and  warm,  so  that  he  could 
play  outdoors  after  tea?  What 
an  unfamiliar  charm  the  de- 
serted school-yard  took  on  in 
the  soft  gloaming,  where  we 
lingered  at  "  Every  man  in  his 
Own  Den,"  until  the  boy  who 
ventured  out  into  the  center  of 
the  field,  crying  the  ancient 
formula : 

"  Here's  a  lead, 
For  Solomon's  seed," 


SUB-FRESPIMAN'S  IMPRESSIONS.      289 

could  hardly  be  seen  for  the 
dusk !  And  then  to  be  let  sit 
out  on  the  front  steps  till  ten 
o'clock  with  the  "grown-ups," 
and  listen  to  their  talk — per- 
haps even  participate  in  their 
lemonade — while  the  fire-flies 
twinkled  in  the  high  grass  by 
the  currant  bushes !  And  to 
wake  afterward  in  the  night  and 
hear  the  fountain  splashing 
monotonously  in  the  asylum 
grounds,  and  the  hurdy-gurdy 
of  the  lunatic  negro  who  came 
every  night  at  moonrise  to  play 
by  those  waters  of  Babylon! 
Oh,  summer  nights ! 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  MONO- 
DRAMATIST. 

(CONTRIBUTED  BY  HUDSON.) 

|ND  so  Jim  Barker  has 
become  a  prominent 
public  speaker  and  is 
stumping  the  State  for  Smith/' 
began  Hetherington,  reminis- 
cently.  "  Well,  I  was  at  school 
with  Jim,  and  he  was  an  ora- 
tor even  then,  life's  journey 
just  begun — a  silver-tongue 
from  'way  back,  so  to  speak. 
Fred  Hardy  used  to  say: 
'  Barker  expects  to  take  one 
step  from  the  graduation-day 
platform  into  the  United  States 
Senate.  He'll  find  it  a  mighty 
long  step/  Well,  well,  old  Jim 
290 


ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMATIST.  2gi 

Barker!  I  remember  his  very 
first  declamation,  when  he  was  a 
little,  round-bodied,  red-faced 
chap  in  the  fourth  class.  Every 
fourth  Friday  in  the  month,  you 
know,  we  used  to  have  '  general 
exercises/  The  afternoon  les- 
sons were  given  up,  and  the 
whole  school  was  assembled  in 
the  big  session-room  on  the  third 
floor.  First  we  sang;  then  we 
listened  to  the  reading  of  the 
school  paper — The  Effort — by 
one  of  the  editors,  generally  a 
girl.  Nowadays,  I  understand, 
the  school  supports  two  rival  liter- 
ary organs  and  prints  them  both. 
The  world  is  getting  too  rich — 
school-children  have  promenade 
concerts  with  dress  suits  and  sich. 
Manuscript  was  good  enough 
for  us,  my  boy — and  what  sweet 
pretty  poems  the  girls  used  to 


292  ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMA  TIST. 

contribute  to  that  old  paper! 
The  monthly  record,  though,  was 
mostly  written  by  a  boy — women 
have  no  humor — and  was  full  of 
jolly  good  grinds  and  give-aways 
on  all  the  fellows,  which  were 
rapturously  applauded. 

"  Then  we  sang  again — Miss 
Humphrey,  the,  pretty  botany- 
teacher,  with  whom  all  the  boys 
in  the  first  class  were  in  love, 
doing  the  accompaniment  on  the 
old  school  piano.  Then  boys 
selected  for  their  eloquence  spoke 
pieces,  and  girls  of  genius  in 
their  best  frocks  read  nice  little 
essays  tied  with  blue  ribbon — 
'What  will  the  Harvest  be?' 
'The  Voyage  of  life/  'The 
Spirits  of  the  Four  Seasons/ 
'  Unfulfilled  Purposes/  '  The 
Folded  Heart/'  etc.  Piece  and 
essay  alternated :  declamation 
roared  while  sentiment  slept. 


ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMATIST.  293 

"  It  was  on  one  of  these  occa- 
sions that  Jim  made  his  first  bow 
to  the  public.  He  gave  us 
'Beautiful  Snow/  with  half- 
shut  eyes,  in  a  voice  quavering 
with  emotion,  and  sustained 
throughout  on  the  high  key  ap- 
propriate to  pathos.  Several  girls 
sobbed,  and  the  boys  in  Jim's 
class  kicked  each  other  joyously 
under  the  benches.  After  that 
he  was  nicknamed  for  a  time 
Beautiful  Snow,  until  he  effaced 
the  impression  of  his  maiden 
speech  by  coming  out  strong  in 
pieces  of  a  martial  and  defiant 
character.  He  rendered  '  The 
Seminole's  Threat/  '  Marmion's 
Defiance  to  Douglas/  '  Spar- 
tacus/  '  Warren's  Address  to  his 
Army/  and  all  the  most  trucu- 
lent things  in  the  Third  Speaker. 
But  the  role  in  which  I  remember 


294  ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMA  TIST. 

him  best  was  '  Catiline's  De- 
fiance to  the  Roman  Senate/  Jim 
had  temperament.  He  was  one 
of  those  bulbous-headed,  per- 
spiring fellows  that  Dr.  Holmes 
admired,  who  steam  profusely 
when  well  under  way.  How  the 
veins  used  to  swell  on  the  bull 
neck,  the  little  light-colored 
eyes  protrude,  the  little  kinky 
light-colored  curls  stand  up  on  the 
bullet  head,  the  flat  wide  nostrils 
spread  themselves  over  the  cir- 
cumjacent cheeks,  the  blubber 
lips  sputter  and  foam  in  the  en- 
ergy of  contempt,  as,  rising  on 
his  toes,  he  pointed  a  fat  fore- 
finger at  the  ventilator  in  the  top 
of  the  south  wall  and  brought  out 
the  line, 

'  Hang  hiss-s-sing  at  the  nobler  man 
below ! ' 


ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMATIST.  295 

"  It  was  not  long  before  Jim 
Barker  was  recognized  as  our 
star  speaker ;  and,  as  prize-decla- 
mation day  approached,  he  was 
the  favorite  at  long  odds.  A 
few  bets,  however,  were  made 
on  Junius  Brutus  Green,  his  only 
possible  rival.  Green  was  a  sin- 
gular person — the  type  of  lad 
old  ladies  describe  as  a  '  noble 
youth;'  tall,  dark-eyed,  with  a 
marble  brow,  a  nose  in  close 
agreement  with  his  baptismal 
name,  and  a  countenance  of  a 
fixed,  masklike  rigidity,  which 
now  and  then  broke  unexpected- 
ly into  a  watery  smile  and  then 
immediately  recovered  its  solemn 
immobility.  There  was  some- 
thing enigmatic — something  pos- 
sibly of  the  charlatan — about 
him.  His  conversation  was  scan- 
ty and,  what  there  was  of  it,  not 


2(£ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMATIST. 

illuminating.  His  oratorical  gift 
was  of  a  mysteriously  intermit- 
tent quality.  His  *  organ  '  was 
greatly  inferior  to  Barker's,  be- 
ing somewhat  shrill  and  nasal. 
The  latter's  resources  of  voice 
and  delivery  were  well  understood 
and  constantly  in  evidence.  He 
was  always  cheerfully  willing  to 
exhibit  them.  But  as  to  Green — 
from  what  subterranean  volcanic 
fountain  did  he  fetch  the  fire 
which  had  blazed  up  so  sensa- 
tionally last  term  in  his  rendi- 
tion of  '  The  Maniac  ' — shriek- 
ing, '  I  am  not  mad ! — I  am  not 
mad ! '  These  two  were  like 
Gladstone  and  Disraeli.  It  was 
felt  that  there  were  unreckoned 
audacities  about  Green  that  made 
him  formidable. 

"  The  great  day  came.     The 
session-room  was  crowded  with 


ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMA  T1ST.  297 

scholars  and  visitors —  parents 
and  friends  of  education  who  of- 
ten honored  '  general  exercises  ' 
with  their  presence.  Jim  had 
drawn  a  place  early  in  the  pro- 
gramme, and  had  bellowed,  with 
his  wonted  vigor  and  a  more 
than  usually  empurpled  visage, 
that  good  old  friend  of  his — 
and  of  ours — Macaulay's  '  Vir- 
ginia/ He  made  one  break. 
Where  the  poet  says> 

Near  by  a  flesher  on  a  block  had  laid 

his  whittle  down: 
Virginius  took  the  whittle  up  and  hid 

it  in  his  gown," 

the  speaker,  in  the  heat  of  de- 
livery, said,  '  Virginius  took  the 
flesher  up/  etc.  One  or  two  boys 
giggled,  but  the  audience  seem- 
ingly failed  to  get  on  to  the  dis- 
tinction, and  the  blunder  passed 


298  ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMATIST. 

unnoticed.  Then  came  the  small 
fry  of  declaimers — '  heads  with- 
out name,  no  more  remembered  ' : 
and  finally  Junius  Brutus  Green, 
who  had  secured  by  lot  or  by  ar- 
rangement the  closing  act.  And 
an  act  it  proved  to  be — a  real 
monodrama.  It  was  that  ejacu- 
latory  soliloquy,  once  common  in 
school  readers  and  speakers,  but 
the  title  and  authorship  of  which 
escape  me,  wherein  a  miser, 
gloating  over  his  ingots  and 
doubloons — Green  pronounced  it 
double-loons  —  in  an  under- 
ground vault,  suddenly  hears  the 
trap-door,  with  its  spring-lock, 
fall  shut  above  him,  and  knows 
that  he  is  immured  to  die  a  lin- 
gering death  of  starvation. 

"  Green  enacted  the  tragedy 
with  great  abandon.  He  rubbed 
his  hands,  chuckled  and  pawed 
over  the  imaginary  heaps  of 


ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMA  TIST.  299 

treasure  on  the  empty  floor  of  the 
platform.  "  My  go-o-old ! '  he 
cried,  '  My  darling  go-o-old ! ' 
When  the  trap-door  slammed  he 
started  and  cried,  '  Ha ! '  His 
subsequent  desperation  culmi- 
nated grandly.  '  Five  thousand 
ducats  for  a  loaf  of  bread ! '  he 
shrieked.  '  Ten  thousand  double- 
loons  for  a  cup  of  water ! '  We 
felt  that  it  was  all  up  with  Jim; 
and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that, 
as  the  miser  pranced  back  and 
forth  across  the  platform,  rais- 
ing his  clenched  hands  to  Heav- 
en, a  narrow  line  of  shirt  showed 
between  his  trousers  and  waist- 
coat and  provoked  a  titter  from 
the  frivolous. 

"  But  now  the  wretched  vic- 
tim of  greed  is  waxing  weak 
with  thirst,  hunger,  and  despair. 
He  gasps,  totters,  reels,  and 


OF  THE  MONODRAMATIST. 

falls  prone  upon  the  stage.    Now 
he  is  still  in  death. 

"At  this  point  the  drop-cur- 
tain should  have  descended.  But 
this  was  no  theatre,  only 
a  school-room  platform,  from 
which  the  teacher's  desk  had  been 
removed  to  make  room  for  the 
speaking.  There  was  no  cur- 
tain. Here  now  was  a  situation : 
how  would  the  impersonator 
contrive  to  end  it?  A  minute 
passed — another ;  and  still  the 
body  lay  upon  the  floor.  Ex- 
pectation stood  upon  tiptoe. 
The  whole  school  was  still.  It 
was  the  psychological  moment, 
and  just  then  the  entry  door  be- 
side the  platform  opened  and  ad- 
mitted a  belated  guest.  He  was 
a  respectable  citizen — a  parent, 
doubtless — dressed  in  his  Sunday 
clothes.  In  one  hand  he  held  his 
gloves  and  stick;  in  the  other,  a 


ROUT  OF  THE  MONODRAMA  TIST.  301 

tall,  shiny  hat.  He  paused  upon 
the  threshold.  Before  him  was 
the  crowded  room,  perfectly 
silent.  At  his  left  the  body  of 
Green  lay  motionless  upon  the 
mimic  stage.  The  visitor  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  and  then 
back  again,  his  face  expressing 
blank  bewilderment.  And  sud- 
denly the  audience  burst  into 
laughter.  The  new  arrival 
smiled  responsive,  and  as  he 
made  his  way  toward  an  empty 
chair,  the  corpse  stirred,  arose, 
advanced  to  the  front  of  the  plat- 
form, where  it  stood  for  an  in- 
stant with  disordered  hair,  and 
patches  of  dust  upon  knees  and 
elbows,  smiled  a  watery  smile, 
bowed  gracefully  and  descended 
the  steps,  L.  L.  E.,  amid  a  tumult 
of  applausive  mirth.  Tout 
Veffet  manque.  Barker  was 
saved." 


THE  THIRD  STAGE  OF 
DISCIPLINE. 

BY    OUR    GRADUATE   MEMBER. 

jjO  you  are  studying  medi- 
cine?" said  Ransom  to 
Case.  "  I  thought  you 
were  a-tutorin'  on  it  in  the  Cal- 
lipolis  University." 

"  No ;  I  only  kept  that  job  one 
year.  I  made  some  debts  in 
college,  and  I  had  to  go  to 
work  at  once  at  something  and 
pay  them  off.  The  salary  was 
only  eight  hundred,  but  living 
at  Callipolis  is  more  than  cheap. 
I  paid  off  all  my  debts  and 
actually  laid  up  some  money 
beside,  to  give  me  a  start  here 
in  the  medical  school." 
302 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    303 

"  What  kind  of  a  place  was 
it?  I  don't  know  but  I  might 
put  in  for  the  position  myself, 
unless  it's  filled  already." 

"You!  I  think  I  see  you 
teaching  mathematics  to  Calli- 
polis  Freshmen ! " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I've  had 
some  thoughts  of  that  kind  of 
a  career.  Academic  leisure — 
intellectual  atmosphere  —  that 
sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

"Intellectual  rot!  I  don't 
mean  slang,  but  literally  dry 
rot.  The  Callipolis  University, 
my  boy,  is  a  high  and  dry  little 
old  sectarian  concern,  such  as 
were  founded  all  over  the 
country  in  the  thirties  and 
forties,  and  have  been  slowly 
decaying  ever  since.  I  believe 
there  were  thirty-seven  of  them 
in  one  western  state  at  one 


304    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

time.  You  know  the  type — 
three  red  brick  buildings  on  a 
hilltop,  in  a  row;  the  middle 
one  with  a  white  wooden  cupola 
and  a  Greek  portico  of  white 
wooden  pillars;  the  end  ones 
dormitories, — East  College  and 
West  College,  —  chock-full  of 
windows  and  architecturally  fac- 
tories. Half  a  dozen  melan- 
choly-looking professors  prowl- 
ing about,  most  of  them  ex- 
ministers  of  their  denomina- 
tion, and  about  ten  students  to 
each  professor.  There  was  one 
profane  Sophomore  who  was 
rusticated  when  I  was  there  for 
circulating  a  parody  on  Words- 
worth : 

'  I  met  a  small  Callipolis  Soph, 
He  was  'steen  years  old,  he  said/  etc., 

in  which  the  Soph,  when  inter- 
rogated as  to  the  number  of  his 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    305 

classmates,  keeps  insisting  that 
*  we  are  seven/  There  are  the 
usual  two  literary  societies — 
the  Clionian  and  the  Philadel- 
phic  —  and  about  as  many 
Greek-letter  societies  as  there 
are  students.  Why,  you  can 
imagine  the  stage  of  evolution 
that  the  institution  has  reached, 
when  I  tell  you  that  they  still 
have  burials  of  Conic  Sections, 
and  that  daring  spirits  now  and 
then  put  a  cow  in  the  chapel 
belfry." 

Case  laughed  softly  to  him- 
self, as  the  mental  image  of  the 
Callipolis  University  impressed 
itself  anew  upon  his  memory. 

"  There  are  some  attempts  at 
modernness,"  he  went  on. 
"  They  have  a  ball  nine  and 
even  a  football  team — though 
where  they  get  eleven  men 


306    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

from,  I  don't  know.  It  was 
once  my  painful  duty  to  break 
up  a  rush  between  the  Sopho- 
more and  Freshman  classes,  in 
which  the  numbers  engaged 
were  such  that  it  must  have 
made  the  struggle  rather  a  per- 
sonal one." 

"You  must  have  had  some 
rum  experiences,"  suggested 
Ransom.  "  You  are  so  juvenile- 
looking,  anyway,  that  I  can't 
fancy  you  keeping  any  sort  of 
discipline  in  a  class-room." 

"  Oh,  the  fellows  treated  me 
well  enough.  You  see,  I  had 
the  prestige  of  a  big  Eastern 
university  to  back  me.  There 
was  a  belief — which  I  didn't  dis- 
courage— that  I  was  a  boating 
man  in  college  and  pulled  on 
the  'Varsity.  There  was  even 
a  rumor  that  I  smoked  cigars 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    307 

in  the  seclusion  of  my  room  in 
West  College.  Then  I  wore 
better  clothes  than  most  of  the 
undergraduates  —  you  needn't 
laugh,  you  satirical  dog;  I  know 
what  you  fellows  used  to  say 
about  my  clothes,  but  standards 
are  different  out  there. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  wore  a  red  neck- 
tie and  carried  a  little  silver- 
headed  cane.  The  Prex  used 
to  glare  at  me  disapprovingly 
when  I  touched  my  tall  hat  to 
him, — he  wore  a  wide-brimmed 
soft  felt  himself, — but  these 
things  were  elements  of  genu- 
ine popularity  among  the  stu- 
dents. They  elected  me  an 
honorary  member  of  the  Sigma 
Theta  Phi  Society;  and  the 
Callipolis  Oak  Leaf,  the  under- 
graduate weekly,  used  to  allude 
to  me  darkly  as '  the  dude  tutor/ 


308    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

"  However,"  he  continued, 
after  a  pause,  "  I  did  feel  rather 
young  sometimes.  There  was 
one  man  in  particular  who  had 
the  same  effect  on  me  that  Lit- 
timer  had  on  Davy  Copperfield. 
I  remember  the  first  time  I 
called  him  up  in  recitation. 
'Kelsey,'  said  I,  selecting  a 
name  at  haphazard  from  my 
marking-book.  A  solemn,  mid- 
dle-aged person  rose  from  the 
rear  bench  and  stood  awaiting 
my  further  commands,  regard- 
ing me  meanwhile  with  a  look 
of  deep  distrust. 

"  He  had  a  sallow  face  with 
prominent  cheek-bones,  a  goat 
beard  and  small,  fiery  eyes. 
These  eyes  he  fixed  upon  me 
steadily  while  I  put  to  him  sev- 
eral questions,  which  he  an- 
swered with  an  air  of  reluctance, 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    309 

whether  proceeding  from  im- 
perfect preparation  of  the  les- 
son or  resentment  at  being 
catechized  by  an  instructor  so 
much  younger  than  himself,  I 
was  not  quite  able  to  decide. 

"  I  reckoned  his  age  at  any- 
where  from  thirty-five  to  forty, 
and  I  felt  that  there  was  a  cer- 
tain indecency  in  his  standing 
before  me  to  be  questioned, 
while  I  remained  seated  and 
recorded  his  mark — a  low  one 
— in  my  little  book.  It  struck 
me  that  he  felt  the  impropriety 
of  it,  too,  for  when  I  sent  him 
to  the  board  afterward  to  work 
an  equation,  he  moved  with 
emphatic  slowness  and  wrote 
down  the  figures  at  my  dicta- 
tion in  a  manner  implying  an 
inward  protest. 

"  You  remember  the  geomet- 


310    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

rical  solid  called  parallelopipe- 
don — a  name  in  itself  sugges- 
tive of  mirth  ?  At  a  subse- 
quent recitation,  one  of  the 
youngest  members  of  the  class 
had  drawn  the  diagram  on  the 
board  and  had  explained  a  part 
of  its  construction.  I  stopped 
him  in  the  middle  of  his  demon- 
stration, and  called  out,  *  Kel- 
sey,  go  to  the  board  and  carry 
on  the  construction  from  the 
point  where  Anderson  left  off.' 

"My  venerable  pupil  pro- 
ceeded with  much  deliberation 
to  the  blackboard  and  contem- 
plated the  elaborate  figure 
traced  upon  it  in  silence,  and 
with  an  expression  of  entire 
detachment  from  the  business 
in  hand. 

"At  last  he  said,  'I  don't 
know  how  the  thing  is  built/ 


THIRD  STA  GE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    311 

"  *  Come/  said  I  encourag- 
ingly, *  Anderson  has  laid 
the  foundation ;  can't  you  go 
ahead  and  rear  the  superstruc- 
ture ? ' 

"  The  division  giggled,  but 
Kelsey  still  gazed  dispassion- 
ately at  the  parallelopipedon. 

"'Well/  I  said,  'take  a  little 
time  and  study  it  out/  and  I 
called  up  another  man  to  recite 
on  '  captions/  Presently  a  re- 
newed giggling  drew  my  atten- 
tion back  to  the  board,  where 
Kelsey,  with  solemn  sweeps  of 
the  eraser  from  side  to  side, 
was  obliterating  the  last  lines 
of  the  obnoxious  diagram. 

"  Having  finished  this  per- 
formance, he  returned  to  his 
seat.  There  was  a  defiant  glit- 
ter in  his  eye,  and  a  spot  of  hec- 
tic red  burned  on  each  of  his 


312'    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

sunken  cheeks.  The  class 
looked  expectant,  and  I  felt  my 
own  cheeks  reddening  with  an- 
noyance. I  thought  it  best  to 
take  no  notice  of  the  matter, 
however;  but  when  I  dismissed 
the  division  I  asked  Kelsey  to 
remain. 

"'  Why  did  you  rub  out  that 
figure? 'I  inquired,  feeling  se- 
cretly very  much  like  a  son 
arraigning  his  own  parent  for 
disrespect. 

"  '  I  couldn't  do  anything  else 
to  it/  he  replied.  There  was  a 
kind  of  choke  and  tremble  in  his 
speech,  as  of  a  hardly  sup- 
pressed rage,  and  something — 
some  muscle  or  nerve — beat  vis- 
ibly in  the  hollow  of  his  jaw.  I 
was  puzzled,  and  at  the  same 
time  nettled,  by  these  evidences 
of  a  quite  irrational  hostility. 


THIR D  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    3 1 3 

"  '  Kelsey/  I  said,  with  a  flip- 
pancy which  I  knew  at  the  time 
to  be  a  mistake,  but  which  I 
couldn't  help  for  the  life  of  me, 
'  nothing  but  my  respect  for 
age  keeps  me  from  imposing 
the  discipline  which  you  de- 
serve. But  really,  you  know,  it 
would  be  too  absurd  to  give  ten 
marks  to  a  man  of  your  years. 
Please  remember,  nevertheless, 
that  the  hoary  head  is  a  crown 
of  glory  only  when  it  is  found 
in  the  way  of  righteousness. 
That  is  all,  sir.  You  may  go/ 

"  He  continued  to  stare  fix- 
edly at  me,  opened  his  mouth 
once  as  if  to  reply,  but  finally 
withdrew  slowly  and  without  a 
word.  I  learned,  from  some  in- 
quiries that  I  set  on  foot,  that 
my  Methuselah  was  regarded 
in  the  class  as  a  *  freak.' 


314    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

"  He  roomed  in  a  back  street 
at  a  distance  from  the  college, 
associated  with  none  of  his 
classmates,  and  was  supposed 
to  devote  his  days  and  nights 
to  study,  with  results  that  were 
only  imperfectly  apparent  in 
the  recitation-room  ;  although 
— as  I  found  on  consulting 
other  instructors — his  standing 
was  respectable  in  all  subjects 
except  mathematics. 

"  His  residence  was  entered 
on  the  catalogue  as  Callipolis. 
No  one  knew  what  his  antece- 
dents were,  or  where  he  really 
came  from. 

"  But  some  one  had  picked 
up  in  the  yard  an  envelope  di- 
rected to  Kelsey,  with  a  blurred 
postmark  which  seemed  to  be 
Kansas,  but  might  have  been 
Arkansas,  so  that  he  became 


THIRD  S  TA  GE  OF  DISCI  PL  INE.    315 

known  by  the  various  nick- 
names of  '  Bleeding  Kansas  * 
and  the  'Arkansas  Traveller/ 

"  After  my  interview  with 
him  he  adopted  a  policy  of  sys- 
tematic '  flunking/  When  called 
on  to  recite,  he  either  responded 
in  a  deep  bass  voice,  '  Not  pre- 
pared/ or  else  rose  majestically 
to  his  feet,  awaited  my  ques- 
tion, and  then  subsided  majes- 
tically into  his  seat. 

"At  length  I  called  him  up 
to  my  desk  after  recitation,  and 
said,  '  Kelsey,  you  seemed  to 
have  some  difficulty  in  the  first 
part  of  the  term  in  getting  hold 
of  the  theory  of  negative  quan- 
tities; but  you  are  furnishing  a 
practical  illustration  of  it  now. 
If  you  go  on  in  this  way,  your 
stand  will  soon  be  a  minus 
quantity.' 


316    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

"  He  ruminated  over  this 
statement  a  minute  or  two,  and 
walked  away  without  comment. 
This  was  his  last  appearance  in 
the  mathematical  class-room. 
For  a  system  of  flunking  he 
now  substituted  a  system  of 
'cutting/  The  absence  of  his 
accusing  figure  from  the  rear 
bench,  with  its  silent  refusal  to 
acknowledge  any  authority  in  a 
stripling  like  me  to  teach  a  ma- 
ture person  like  him — this  in  it- 
self was  a  relief. 

"But  meanwhile  his  absence 
marks  were  rolling  up,  and  of 
course  it  wouldn't  do.  It  soon 
became  necessary  to  send  him 
a  letter  home,  informing  his 
parent  or  guardian  that  l  your 

son  [ward]  has  incurred 

marks  and  has  been  placed  upon 
the  first  stage  of  discipline.' 


Copyrighted,  1897,  by  Perry  Mason  Company,  Boston,  Mass. 
Reproved  by  the  Tutor. 


THIRD  S  TA  GE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    3 1 7 

"  I  accordingly  went  over  to 
the  secretary's  office  and  con- 
sulted the  address-book,  to  find 
who  Kelsey's  parent  or  guard- 
ian was;  but  the  book  i>;we 
no  information  on  the  subject. 

"  '  Kelsey  ?  '    said    t  he    ^ecre- 
tary,    when  appealed  to,  '  Kel 
sey?     Let    me    see.     Oh.     Int 
old    fellow    in     the     Frrsb-v--" 
class?      Why,   he    \<    fcfe 
Fromage    wa^  hngh^g 
He    filled  up  his  enttan<<>    <  x- 
amination  blank  this  way  : 

4<  *  "  Name  of  parent  or  guard- 
ian :  I  have  no  parent  or 
guardian,  but  hold  myself  ac- 
countable to  God." 

41 '  He's  an  orphan,  you  see/ 
chuckled  the  secretary. 

" '  But  I've  got  to  send  a  let- 
ter  home.  Where  shall  I  send 
it?' 


3 1 8    THIRD  S  TA  GE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

"'Send  it  to  him.  He's  old 
enough  to  take  care  of  himself.' 

"  '  No,  I'm  afraid  that  won't 
satisfy  the  letter  of  the  law.  If 
he  hasn't  any  parent  or  guardian 
we've  got  to  invent  one  for  him. 
My  relations  with  him  are 
rather  strained,  anyway,  and  I 
am  not  going  to  omit  any  warn- 
ing which  he  is  entitled  to 
under  a  strict  construction  of 
the  rules.' 

"A  day  or  two  afterward  I 
met  the  aged  delinquent  in  the 
yard  and  stopped  him. 

"  '  You  have  twenty  marks,' 
I  began,  'for  unexcused  ab- 
sences, and  it  is  my  duty,  as 
your  division  officer,  to  send  a 
letter  home.  Where  would  you 
like  me  to  send  it  ?  I  find  no 
address  in  the  secretary's  book. 
You—' 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    319 

"  I  paused,  overcome  by  a 
sudden  impression  of  pathos  in 
the  figure  before  me — a  sense 
of  poverty  and  illness.  He  wore 
his  customary  suit  of  solemn 
black,  cut  in  the  weird  fashion 
peculiar  to  the  rural  tailor  of 
some  twenty  years  ago,  before 
the  development  of  the  ready- 
made  clothing  business  had 
made  his  art  obsolete.  And 
the  wearer  of  these  singular 
garments  looked  actually  ill. 

"  His  eyes  were  glassy,  and 
his  usual  lean  sallowness  was 
intensified  into  a  shrunken  pal- 
lor. With  the  divination  born 
of  a  new  sympathy,  I  saw 
things  as  he  saw  them — the 
long  years  of  struggle  behind 
him  ;  years  of  manual  toil,  of 
baffled  aspiration,  of  self-sacri- 
fice for  an  education,  of  patient 


320    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

waiting,  and  finally  of  belated 
opportunities  and  failing  health. 
I  saw  myself  with  his  eyes — an 
airy  young  puppy,  a  university 
sprig,  whose  advantages  had 
cost  him  nothing  and  who 
looked  down  with  easy  superi- 
ority upon  better  men. 

"  '  Mr.  Kelsey,'  I  resumed,  in 
my  kindest  tones,  'you  are  not 
looking  well.  Perhaps  you  have 
a  good  reason  for  these  ab- 
sences ;  but  you  haven't  put  in 
any  sick  excuses.  Do  you  have 
trouble  with  your  mathematics  ? 
It  would  give  me  pleasure  to 
help  you,  if  you  would  bring 
me  the  problems  that  you  find 
especially  difficult.  Bring  them 
any  day,  between  the  morning 
recitations,  to  my  room  —  35 
West  College/ 

"  But    the    olive-branch    was 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    321 

put  sternly  aside.  The  lines 
about  his  mouth  hardened.  He 
drew  his  absurd  figure  erect  and 
threw  back  his  head  till  the 
goat  beard  pointed  at  me  al- 
most horizontally. 

"'You  may  direct  the  letter 
to  Miss  Louisa  Kelsey,  130 
Mulberry  Street,  Callipolis.' 

"  Well,  sir,  old  Bleeding  Kan- 
sas, as  the  boys  called  him, 
went  on  cutting  and  making  no 
explanations,  till  his  marks  got 
up  to  forty,  and  I  had  to  write 
another  letter,  informing  Miss 
Louisa  Kelsey  that  her  nephew 
was  now  on  the  second  stage  of 
discipline,  and  that  if  he  got 
twenty  marks  more  he  would 
be  dropped.  '  Nephew/  I  put 
it,  assuming  naturally  that  the 
lady  was  his  maiden  aunt. 

"  She  took   no  notice  of  my 


322     THIRD  STA  GE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

warnings,  and  presently  Kelsey 
began  to  absent  himself  not 
only  from  the  mathematical  re- 
citations, but  from  all  college 
exercises.  His  last  appearance 
was  at  one  Wednesday  reading 
of  themes.  Blodgett,  the  rhe* 
torical  tutor,  hailed  me  one 
morning  in  front  of  the  college 
row. 

"  '  Look  here,  Case,  I've  got 
something  I  want  you  to  read.' 
He  was  running  over  a  bundle 
of  themes,  tied  with  a  bit  of 
red  tape,  which  he  held  in  his 
hand.  He  finally  selected  one, 
drew  it  out  and  handed  it  to 
me  with  a  laugh. 

"'You  know  old  Kelsey— 
Freshman  class?  Well,  here's 
a  "  forensic  disputation "  he 
read  me  the  other  day,  and  it 
brought  down  the  division. 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    323 

There's  a  paragraph  in  it  that's 
meant  for  you — so  one  of  the 
men  told  me.  Anyway,  they 
were  onto  it,  and  they  ap- 
plauded him  vigorously  when 
he  got  through.  I  wish  you 
had  been  there  to  hear  him  roll 
it  off.  It  was  like  Burke  on 
W.  Hastings.  These  far- West- 
ern fellows  are  the  only  ones 
left  that  have  the  real  old  Web- 
sterian  tradition/ 

"  '  Thank  you/  said  I ;  '  per- 
haps I  shall  enjoy  it  as  well  in 
the  privacy  of  my  boudoir.  It's 
thoughtful  of  you  to  call  my 
attention  to  it.' 

"  '  Isn't  it  ?  Here,  I've  marked 
the  paragraph  with  the  blue 
pencil ;  but  you  had  better  read 
the  whole  thing.  It  will  do 
you  good.' 

"  Mr.     Kelsey's    manuscript 


324    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

proved  to  be  a  discussion  of  the 
question,  '  Does  College  Edu- 
cation Pay?'  I  was  gratified 
to  find  that  the  disputant's  con- 
clusions were  favorable,  on  the 
whole,  to  the  affirmative  side. 
But  the  particular  paragraph 
which  the  class  had  been  good 
enough  to  apply  to  me,  ran  as 
follows  : 

"  '  The  crying  need  of  Ameri- 
can colleges  is  better  instruc- 
tion. Instead  of  being  what 
Matthew  Arnold  calls  "  men  of 
light  and  leading,"  the  profes- 
sors are  too  often  callow  youths 
who  owe  their  appointments  to 
having  had  their  windows 
broken  as  tutors.  The  abolish- 
ment of  the  tutorial  system  is 
a  prime  prerequisite  of  better 
teaching.  Who  does  not  will- 
ingly sit  at.  the  feet  of  our  re- 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    325 

vered  President,  when  lectur- 
ing on  moral  duties;  or  listen 
with  delight  to  the  silver 
tongue  of  our  prominent  Pro- 
fessor of  Ethical  Science,  Rev. 
Jared  W.  Backus,  D.D.,  LL.D., 
whose  writings  are  known  net 
only  in  religious  circles,  but 
wherever  the  English  speech  is 
heard  to  reverberate  in  "  ac- 
cents of  a  kindred  tongue"? 
But  in  many  of  our  smaller  in- 
stitutions of  learning  we  do  not 
have  the  privilege  of  hearing 
such  men  till  Senior  year.  The 
two  lower  classes  are  entrusted 
to  the  tender  mercy  of  tutors. 
Boys  just  out  of  the  nursery, 
spider-legged  young  sprouts  of 
Eastern  colleges,  without  any 
experience  of  life,  are  put  over 
men — men  who  have  perhaps 
fought  and  bled  for  their  coun- 


326    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

try,  though  they  may  not  have 
a  Boston  accent  or  be  quite  as 
fresh  on  preparatory  mathe- 
matics as  the  beardless  juven- 
iles and  patronizing  neophytes 
who  are  appointed  to  worry 
them  under  the  name  of  instruc- 
tors— Heaven  save  the  mark  ! ' 

"  I  had  just  finished  reading 
this,  when  some  one  knocked 
at  my  door  and  there  came  into 
the  room  a  quaint  little  figure 
of  a  girl,  about  ten  years  old, 
with  pale  hair,  pale  face,  and 
big,  solemn,  pale  eyes. 

" '  My  papa  is  sick  and  wants 
to  see  you/  she  said,  with  an 
elderly  precision  of  speech. 

"  '  And  who  might  your  papa 
be,  my  dear?* 

"  '  Mr.  Kelsey  is  my  papa — 
130  Mulberry  Street.  He  said 
for  you  to  come  to-day,  please/ 


THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE.    327 

"  '  Good  heavens  !  Kelsey 
your  papa!  How  sick  is  he?' 

"  '  He  has  been  having  hem 
—  hemrages ! '  The  self-con- 
tained little  face  twitched,  but 
no  tears  came. 

"  '  Poor  child  —  poor  child  ! 
Is  your  mamma  with  him  ?' 

"  '  My  mamma  is  dead/ 

"  '  Well,  your  aunt — his  aunt 
— Miss  Louisa — is  it  ? — Kelsey. 
Is  she  with  him  ?  ' 

" '  He  hasn't  got  any  aunt. 
Louisa  is  my  name/ 

"  So  this  was  the  lady  whom 
I  had  been  addressing  as 
madam  in  official  notices,  in- 
forming her  that  her  papa  was 
a  naughty  boy  and  had  forty 
marks !  Old  Kelsey  was  not 
without  a  grim  humor,  it 
seemed.  And,  indeed,  he  gave 
another  evidence  of  it  in  the 


328    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

last  words  that  I  ever  heard 
from  him. 

"  I  had  shaken  hands  with 
him  in  his  shabby  sick-chamber 
— or  rather  had  picked  up  one 
limp  and  clammy  member,  as 
it  lay  upon  the  counterpane, 
and  retained  it  in  my  own,  while 
I  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
and  heard  him  hoarsely  whis- 
per an  apology  for  having  been 
disrespectful  to  me. 

"  *  My  dear  fellow — my  dear 
fellow/  I  interposed,  '  drop  all 
that.  Don't  talk  any  more 
than  you  have  to,  anyway  ;  but 
just  tell  me,  in  as  few  words  as 
you  can,  what  I  can  do  for 
you/ 

"  The  doctor  had  gone,  leav- 
ing directions  and  promising  to 
return  in  the  afternoon.  The 
nurse  was  moving  softly  about 


THIRD  S  TA  GE  OF  DISCI  PL  INE.    329 

the  room,  and  the  child  was 
crying  almost  inaudibly  in  a 
corner. 

"  He  beckoned  to  me  to  ap- 
proach my  ear  to  his  mouth. 
*  You  are  my  division-officer/ 
he  whispered,  '  I  don't  know 
any  one  here.  I  would  like 
you  to  take  charge  of  the  girl 
after  —  after  —  you  know,' — he 
glanced  apprehensively  toward 
his  daughter, — *  and  send  her 
back  to  my  folks  in  Iowa.  [So 
it  wasn't  Kansas,  after  all.] 
She's  got  the  money  to  settle 
up  here  and  pay  her  fare. 
Address  on  card  in  her  pocket- 
book.' 

"  I  assured  him  that  every- 
thing should  be  done  as  he 
wished,  engaged  to  return  in 
the  afternoon,  kissed  the  little 
girl  and  told  her  to  stop  crying, 


330    THIRD  STAGE  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

for  her  papa  was  going  to  get 
well ;  and  I  was  about  to  leave 
the  room,  motioning  to  the 
nurse  to  follow  me  outside  for 
a  few  minutes'  talk,  when  the 
invalid  once  more  beckoned  me 
to  come  nearer. 

"  A  ghastly  grin  distorted 
his  emaciated  features  and  his 
little  red  eyes  twinkled  gro- 
tesquely. 

"'  Write  her  a  letter,'  he 
gasped,  as  I  leaned  over  to 
catch  his  words, '  when  she  gets 
back  to  Iowa — and  tell  her  the 
old  man's  gone  on  the  third 
stage  of  discipline  !  7* 


A    PROBLEM  IN  ARITHMET- 
ICAL PROGRESSION. 

BY  A  GUEST  OF  THE  CLUB. 

|  HE  house  was  very  still, 
and  the  little  boy  was 
all  alone.  His  mother 
and  uncle  had  gone  downtown 
an  hour  ago,  and  the  servant 
girl  had  taken  advantage  of 
their  absence  to  slip  out  for  a 
gossip  in  a  neighboring  kitchen. 
The  blinds  were  closed  to  keep 
out  the  sun,  and  the  scent  of 
lilac  blossoms  stole  into  the 
darkened  rooms  through  the 
open  windows.  The  boy  had 
been  sitting  on  the  lounge  in 
the  study,  regarding  attentively 
the  frontispiece  to  Sturm's  Re- 
flections for  Every  Day  in  the 
331 


332    ARITHMETICAL  PROGRESSION. 

Year,  which  represented  a  gen- 
tleman and  lady  examining  a 
vase  of  goldfishes.  The  author's 
reflection  appertinent  to  this 
plate  was  given  upon  page  234  \ 
but  the  boy  was  unable  to  profit 
by  it,  for  the  letterpress  was 
beyond  him  as  yet.  Instead, 
he  had  reflections  of  his  own 
upon  the  gentleman's  swallow- 
tailed  coat  and  the  bell-crowned 
hat  which  he  politely  held  in 
his  hand, — as  the  boy  himself 
had  been  taught  to  do  when 
indoors.  The  lady's  ringlets 
and  very  short-waisted  gown 
also  invited  reflection  ;  and  the 
goldfishes  would  lend  them- 
selves to  decorative  purposes, 
if  only  one  had  not  mislaid  the 
camers-hair  brush  belonging  to 
the  box  of  water-color  paints 
upstairs. 


ARITHMETICAL   PROGRESSION.     333 

There  was  no  sound  about 
the  house  except  the  sucking 
and  flapping  of  a  shade  in  one 
of  the  study  windows,  as  it 
drew  in  and  out  in  the  soft 
spring  air.  But  presently  there 
blended  with  this  something 
more  insistent,  more  distinctly 
rhythmical,  and  suggestive  of 
human  agency.  The  boy  lis- 
tened. Yes,  it  was  unmistak- 
ably the  strains  of  a  hand-organ, 
though  very  far  away.  He 
turned  the  pages  of  moral 
Sturm,  and  arrived  at  the  en- 
graving of  a  youth  playing  on 
the  harp  in  a  lofty,  bare  apart- 
ment, whose  furniture  consisted 
of  a  globe  and  a  pair  of  com- 
passes. These  emblems  were 
mysterious ;  but  the  harp 
seemed  to  be  subtly  allusive  to 
that  other  musical  instrument, 


334    ARITHMETICAL  PROGRESSION. 

the  sound  of  which,  however, 
had  now  failed.  Suddenly  it 
started  up  again,  and  much 
nearer.  The  artist  was  in  our 
own  street. 

The  boy  dropped  his  book, 
and  ran  to  the  front  door.  The 
door  itself  was  open,  but  the 
blinds  were  shut,  and  he  stood 
behind  them,  expectant,  "  in 
the  sunlight  greenly  sifted." 
Before  long  the  music  stopped 
again,  and  soon  the  hand-organ 
man  himself  was  seen  approach- 
ing, with  his  melodious  burden 
on  his  back.  It  was  a  quiet 
street  of  shady  dooryards  and 
houses  inhabited  by  elderly 
people.  Few  children  were 
there  at  any  time,  and  now  it 
was  the  middle  of  the  long  fore- 
noon, and  school  was  in.  So 
the  minstrel's  progress  along 


ARITHMETICAL  PROGRESSION.    335 

the  lonely  block  was  unat- 
tended, and  he  glanced  wist- 
fully from  house  to  house,  un- 
certain of  a  harvest. 

Finally  he  arrives  before  the 
house  of  the  boy.  He  pauses  ; 
he  regards  the  green  door 
blinds.  Moment  big  with  fate  ! 
Slowly  he  unslings  his  hurdy- 
gurdy.  He  is  going  to  play 
here, — right  here.  Ours  is  the 
divinely  selected  mansion.  It 
would  not  have  occurred  to  the 
little  boy  to  do  anything  him- 
self toward  influencing  the  deci- 
sion. The  wind  bloweth  where 
it  listeth,  and  the  principle 
which  governs  a  hand-organist 
in  passing  by  one  gate,  and 
stopping  before  another,  is  in- 
scrutable by  human  boys.  Older 
people  might  have  suspected 
that,  in  this  instance,  the  row 


336    ARITHMETICAL    PROGRESSION. 

of  small  finger  tips  visible  be- 
tween the  slats  of  the  'door 
blind  had  something  to  do  with 
the  choice. 

A  lover  of  soda  water  has  as- 
sured me  that  in  Germany  he 
found  only  two  flavors, — mit 
and  ohne.  Mit  is  red  ;  ohne  is 
white.  Even  so,  at  a  New  Eng- 
land rural  fair,  an  itinerant 
fizz-vender  was  wont  to  explain 
to  his  customers  the  distinction 
between  his  "  serrops."  "  Raws- 
berry  'n*  sars'p'rilla,"  he  would 
announce :  "  rawsberry  's  red  ; 
sars'p'rilla  's  yaller."  Of  hand- 
organs,  also,  the  kinds  are  twro  : 
mit,  with  a  monkey  ;  ohne,  with- 
out. There  used  to  be  some- 
times a  third  species,  that  had 
cardboard  figures  in  the  front, 
which  danced  to  the  music  ; 
but  this  was  so  rare  that  it  may 


ARITHMETICAL    PROGRESSION.     337 

be  disregarded  in  the  classifica- 
tion. 

This  hand-organ,  of  which  I 
telle  you  my  tale,  was  of  the 
ohne  variety,  and  it  was  more 
fitting  so.  Among  the  respect- 
able dwellers  in  this  back  street 
— what  the  policeman  on  the 
beat  once  called  "  the  nobility 
of  the  block  " — and  in  the  still 
profundity  of  the  mid-forenoon 
— what  the  Greeks  called  u  the 
deep  of  the  morning  " — the  an- 
tics of  even  the  most  melan- 
choly monkey  would  have  been 
little  short  of  an  outrage. 

And  now  the  instrument  be- 
gan to  play.  The  first  tune  on 
its  list  was  Old  Dog  Tray,  a 
good,  droning  melody  which 
might  seem  to  have  been  com- 
posed expressly  for  hand- 
organs.  Behind  his  screen  the 


338    ARITHMETICAL    PROGRESSION. 

boy  listened  invisibly,  until  a 
click  in  the  machinery  an- 
nounced that  the  tune  was 
changed.  When  the  Marseil- 
laise struck  up,  he  was  embold- 
ened to  throw  open  the  shut- 
ters and  seat  himself  on  the 
stone  doorstep.  He  was  having 
the  performance  all  to  himself. 
No  neighbor  came  along  the 
sidewalk ;  not  even  the  baker's 
cart  passed.  He  was  like  the 
late  King  Ludwig  of  Bavaria, 
sitting  alone  in  the  vast,  empty, 
dark  theatre,  while  Wagner's 
music  dramas  were  played  for 
his  sole  benefit. 

But  presently  he  bethought 
himself  that  it  was  customary 
to  give  pennies  or  other  coin  to 
organ  grinders.  He  had  seen 
the  thing  done  repeatedly,  and 
this  grinder  would  doubtless  ex- 


ARITHMETICAL   PROGRESSION.    339 

pect  it.  He  knew  where  his 
uncle  kept  his  money,  and 
he  went  to  the  study  to  get 
it. 

There  was  a  desk,  in  whose 
upper  compartments  were  writ- 
ing materials  and  other  articles  : 
a  tray  of  quill  pens  ;  a  perfo- 
rated receptacle  for  sand, — 
black,  glittering  sand,  with 
which  the  uncle  would  pepper 
a  freshly  written  sheet,  to  dry 
the  ink,  and  which  it  was  fun  to 
scrape  off  afterwards  with  the 
paper  folder,  when  it  rustled 
fascinatingly  against  the  paper  ; 
a  box  of  varicolored  wafers, 
nice  to  wet  with  the  tongue — 
flavored,  as  they  were,  with 
wintergreen — and  stick  in  pat- 
terns upon  the  closet  door; 
sticks  of  red,  green,  and  yellow 
sealing  wax,  with  a  seal  which 


340    ARITHMETICAL    PROGRESSION. 

stamped  a  monogram  on  the 
wax  when  melted  ;  a  shoehorn, 
simulating  a  scimiter;  and  a 
lamp  pick,  which,  withdrawn 
from  its  spool-like  sheath,  made 
an  excellent  dagger  to  stab 
enemy  Turks. 

But  in  the  drawer  of  the  desk 
there  was  treasure  :  rolls  of 
bright  red  new  copper  cents, 
done  up  in  paper,  gummed  at 
the  ends,  twenty  in  a  roll ;  bet- 
ter still  and  more  easy  to  come 
at,  a  chamois-skin  bag  contain- 
ing silver  of  all  denominations, 
from  the  tiny  pieces  that  Ki 
Graham,  the  cook's  nephew, 
called  "tripenny  bits"  up  to 
big  round  dollars. 

Arrived  with  all  this  wealth 
at  the  front  door,  the  boy  sat 
down  upon  the  mat,  untied  the 
string  which  fastened  the  mouth 


ARITHMETICAL    PROGRESSION.     341 

of  the  bag,  emptied  the  silver 
coins  on  the  broad  top  landing 
of  the  doorsteps,  and  proceeded 
to  arrange  them  in  glittering 
rows,  beginning  with  the  three- 
cent  pieces, — mere  thin  wafers 
of  white  metal, — and  running 
up  through  an  ascending  series 
of  half-dimes,  dimes,  quarters, 
half-dollars,  and  dollars.  It  was 
his  plan  to  give  a  coin  after 
each  tune,  commencing  with 
the  smallest,  and  when  they 
were  all  gone,  rising  to  the 
next  higher  denomination.  He 
had  an  imperfect  understanding 
of  money  values,  but  he  argued, 
from  the  analogy  of  candies 
and  other  possessions,  that  the 
biggest  must  be  the  best ;  and 
he  calculated  that,  in  this  way, 
not  only  would  he  get  music  as 
long  as  the  mone1"  ^d  out,  but 


342    ARITHMETICAL  PROGRESSION. 

the  constantly  increasing  size 
of  the  reward  would  stimulate 
the  hand-organ  man  to  higher 
exertions. 

The  Italian's  black  eyes  glis- 
tened, but  he  did  not  swoop 
down  upon  the  treasure,  gather 
it  in,  and  march  off.  Perhaps 
he  was  a  good  hand-organ  man  ; 
perhaps  he  thought  the  risk  too 
great.  He  did  not  even  glance 
up  and  down  the  street  to  see 
if  any  one  was  coming,  but, 
with  eyes  fixed  lovingly  upon 
this  potentiality  of  wealth,  and 
with  a  grin  about  his  bearded 
lips,  he  entered  heartily  into 
the  spirit  of  the  thing,  and 
ground  away  with  steady  rapid- 
ity. The  Marseillaise  had  been 
followed  by  Pop  Goes  the  Wea- 
sel, Rosalie  the  Prairie  Flower, 
and  a  number  of  national  airs, 


ARITHMETICAL    PROGRESSION.     343 

and  the  row  of  threepenny  bits 
was  sensibly  diminishing. 

"  Grinder,  who  serenely  grindest 

At  my  door  the  Hundredth  Psalm, 
Till  thou  ultimately  findest 
Pence  in  thy  unwashen  palm," 

exhibited  no  greater  patience 
and  forbearance  than  did  this 
favorite  of  fortune,  as  he  saw 
the  beginning  of  the  half-dime 
row  approaching.  Ohne  Hasty 
ohne  Rast,  he  wielded  his  crank. 
He  had  played  clear  through 
his  repertory  of  tunes,  and  now 
commenced  on  them  again. 
But  repetition  did  not  pall 
upon  his  audience.  So  have 
I  seen  school  children,— rein- 
forced with  a  luncheon  of 
cookies  and  chocolate  caramels, 
— after  a  long  forenoon  at 
a  "  continuous  performance/' 
when  the  programme  began  its 


344    ARITHMETICAL    PROGRESSION. 

round  again,  greet  each  familiar 
feature  of  the  show  with  unim- 
paired eagerness. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  spir- 
ited execution  of  Dandy  Jim  of 
Caroline  that  the  shuffle  of 
feet  and  the  rap  of  a  cane  made 
themselves  heard  along  the  side- 
walk. A  gentleman  and  lady 
stopped  at  the  gate.  At  the 
same  moment  footsteps  sound- 
ed along  the  entry,  and  the  ser- 
vant girl  arrived  upon  the  scene, 
R.  U.  E.  and  pat  as  the  conclu- 
sion of  an  old  comedy.  There 
was  a  momentary  tableau,  and 
then  the  lady  pounced  upon  the 
boy,  and  smothered  him  with 
kisses  and  laughter ;  the  maid, 
with  a  shriek,  threw  herself 
upon  the  silver,  and  swept  it 
into  the  bag;  the  gentleman 
lifted  his  hat  ironically  to  the 


ARITHMETICAL   PROGRESSION.     345 

musician,  who  touched  his  own 
grimy  headpiece  in  answer, 
with  a  sympathetic  grin,  and 
then,  shouldering  his  organ, 
strolled  pensively  down  the 
street ;  while  the  boy  was  borne 
into  the  penetralia  of  the  house, 
struggling  and  protesting  that 
the  concert  was  only  just 
begun. 


COLLEGE  RHYMES. 


THE  DARKE  LADYE. 

SHADOW    haunts     about 
my  door, 

In  midnight  dreams  I  see 

An  Afrite-woman  pace  the  floor: 
It  is  the  Darke  Ladye  ! 

Of  mournful  sable  is  her  robe  : 
Her  eyes  like  waves  are  rolled 

Full  whitely:  from  her  ear's  black  lobe 
Hangs  down  the  red,  red  gold. 

The  clothe-baske*t  is  in  her  hand, 

The  tear  is  in  her  e'e  : 
Her  children  two  behind  her  stand 

While  speaks  the  Darke  Ladye  : 

-'  Full  thrice  with   round,  vermilion 
face 

Behind  the  cedars  black, 
The  moon  hath  risen  in  her  place 

On  broad  Quinnipiac. 

349 


350  THE  DARKE  LA  DYE. 

"  Full  fourscore  dawns  have  streaked 
the  bay 

Since  thou,  upon  thy  knee, 
Didst  vow  the  red,  red  gold  to  pay 

Unto  the  Darke  Ladye. 

"  I  washed  from  soil  and  inky  blots, 
Thy  cuffs  and  eke  thy  shirt ; 

The  ^thiop  changed  another's  spots 
And  cleansed  the  stranger's  dirt. 

"  And  though  thy  stains  as   scarlet 
were 

With  blood  of  strawberry, 
All  snowy  grew  each  handkercher 

Before  the  Darke  Ladye. 

"  But  now  my  hearth  is  desolate, 
And  on  the  Elm  Street  shore 

The  brooms  are  still ;  my  dusky  mate 
Shall  beat  the  rug  no  more. 

"  Look  on  these  cherubs,  short  but 
sweet ; 

How  hangs  each  curly  head  ! 
Their  eyes  are  dim  with  tears  ;  they  eat 

The  orphan's  gingerbread. 


THE  DARKE  LADYE.  35* 

"  The  while  thou  smok'st  the  costly 
weed 

(I  see  one  on  thy  shelf), 
Thou  makest  widows'  hearts  to  bleed, 

Withholding  of  thy  pelf. 

"  False  caitiff,  didst  thou  not  declare 

A  check  was  on  the  way 
From  thy  far  boyhood's   home,  and 
swear 

To  pay  me  yesterday  ? 

"  Henceforth  no  soap  thy  sheets  shall 
know, 

No  starch  thy  limp  wrist-band, 
And  dirty  towels  in  a  row 

Shall  hang  on  thy  wash-stand." 

She's  gone,  the  door  behind  her  slams, 
Her  feet  descend  the  stair, 

And  I  with  sulphurous  loud  damns 
Disturb  the  upper  air. 

She  comes  at  morn  and  dewy  eve, 

She  comes  just  after  tea, 
To  stand  beside  my  door  and  grieve, 

That  dismal  Darke  Ladye. 


352  THE  DARKE  LA  DYE. 

Thrice  have  I  sent  her  small,  small 

bill 

For  my  dear  Pa  to  see. 
Some  happy  chance   bring  back  his 

check 
To  quit  the  Darke  Ladye. 


YE  LAYE  OF 
YE  WOODPECKORE. 

PICUS  ERYTHROCEPHALUS. 

'WHITHER    goest     thou, 
pale  student, 

Within  the  wood  so  fur  ? 

Art  on  the  chokesome  cherry  bent  ? 
Dost  seek  the  chestnut  burr  ? 

PALE  STUDENT. 

O  it  is  not  for  the  mellow  chestnut 

That  I  so  far  am  come, 
Nor  yet  for  puckery  cherries,  but 

For  Cypripedium. 

A  blossom  hangs  the  choke-cherry 
And  eke  the  chestnut  burr, 

And  thou  a  silly  fowl  must  be, 
Thou  red-head  wood-pecker. 

PICUS  ERYTHROCEPHALUS. 

Turn  back,  turn  back,  thou  pale  stu- 

d6nt, 
Nor  in  the  forest  go ; 

353 


354     YE  LA  YE  OF  YE  WOODPECKORE. 

There  lurks  beneath  his  bosky  tent 
The  deadly  mosquito, 

And   there   the  wooden-chuck    doth 
tread, 

And  from  the  oak-tree's  top 
The  red,  red  squirrels  on  thy  head 

The  frequent  acorn  drop. 

PALE    STUDENT. 

The  wooden  chuck  is  next  of  kin 

Unto  the  wood-pecker ; 
I  fear  not  thy  ill-boding  din, 

And  why  should  I  fear  her  ? 

What  though  a  score  of  acorns  drop 
And  squirrels'  fur  be  red  ?< 

'Tis  not  so  ruddy  as  thy  top — 
So  scarlet  as  thy  head. 

O  rarely  blooms  the  Cypripe- 

dium  upon  its  stalk  ; 
And  like  a  torch  it  shines  to  me 

Adown  the  dark  wood-walk. 

O  joy  to  pluck  it  from  the  ground, 
To  view  the  purple  sac, 


YE  LA  YE  OF  YE  WOODPECKORE.     355 

To  touch  the  sessile  stigma's  round — 
And  shall  I  then  turn  back  ? 


PICUS  ERYTHROCEPHALUS. 

O  black  and  shining  is  the  bog 
That  feeds  the  sumptuous  weed, 

Nor  stone  is  found  nor  bedded  log 
Where  foot  may  well  proceed. 

Midmost  it  glimmers  in  the  mire 
Like  Jack  o'  Lanthorn's  spark, 

Lighting  with  phosphorescent  fire 
The  green  umbrageous  dark. 

There  while  thy  thirsty  glances  drink 
The  fair  and  baneful  plant, 

Thy  shoon  within  the  ooze  shall  sink 
And  eke  thine  either  pant. 

PALE  STUDENT. 

Give    o'er,    give    o'er,    thou    wood- 

peckore ; 

The  bark  upon  the  tree 
Thou,  at  thy  will,  may'st  peck   and 

bore, 
But  peck  and  bore  not  me. 


356     YE  LAVE  OF  YE   WOODPECKORE. 

Full  two  long  hours   I've  searched 
about 

And  'twould  in  sooth  be  rum, 
If  I  should  now  go  back  without 

The  Cypripedium. 

PICUS  ERYTHROCEPHALUS. 

Farewell !  Farewell !    But  this  I  tell 
To  thee,  thou  pale  student : 

Ere  dews  have  fell,  thou'lt  rue  it  well 
That  woodward  thou  didst  went : 

Then  whilst  thou  blows  the  drooping 

nose 

And  wip'st  the  pensive  eye — 
There  where  the  sad  Symplocarpus 

fcetidus  grows, 
Then  think— O  think  of  I ! 

Loud  flouted  there  that  student  wight 
Svvich  warnynge  for  to  hear  ; 

"  I  scorn,  old  hen,  thy  threats  of  might, 
And  eke  thine  ill  grammere. 

"  Go  peck  the  lice  (or  green  or  red) 
That  swarm  the  bass-wood  tree, 


YE  LAVE  OF  YE  WOODPECKORE.    357 

But  wag  no  more  thine  addled  head 
Nor  clack  thy  tongue  at  me." 

The  wood-peck  turned  to  whet  her 
beak, 

The  student  heard  her  drum, 
As  through  the  wood  he  went  to  seek 

The  Cypripediiim. 

Alas  !  and  for  that  pale  student : 

The  evening  bell  did  ring, 
And   down   the  walk  the  Freshmen 
went 

Unto  the  prayer-meeting ; 

Upon  the  fence  loud  rose  the  song, 
The  weak,  weak  tea  was  o'er — 

Ha  !  who  is  he  that  sneaks  along 
Into  South  Middle's  door  ? 

The  mud  was  on  his  shoon,  and  O  ! 

The  briar  was  in  his  thumb, 
His  staff  was  in  his  hand,  but  no — 

No  Cypripediiim. 


A  MERRY  BALLAD  OF 
THREE   SOPHOMORES    AND 
A  TOLL-WOMAN. 

IjT  is  a  lordly  sophomore, 

The  thirstiest  one  of  three, 
And  he  hath  stopped  at  the 

toll-house  door 
All  under  the  greenwood  tree. 

"  Come  hither,  come  hither,  my  mer- 
rymen  both 

And  stand  on  either  side  : 
What  see  ye  on  the  toll-house  wall 

By  the  toll-house  door  so  wide  ?  " 

They  ha'  lookit  north— they  ha'  lookit 

south — 

They  ha'  lookit  aboon  the  sky  : 
Then  up  and  spake  the  first  merry- 
man 
And  thus  he  made  reply  : 

358 


A  MERRY  BALLAD.  359 

"  I    ha'    lookit    north — I    ha'   lookit 

south — 

I  ha'  lookit  aboon  the  sky, 
Yet  I  see  naught  on  the  toll-house 

wall 
Or  the  toll-house  door  thereby." 

Then  up  and  spake  the  next  merry- 
man 

With  "  Alack  and  woe  betide ! 
For  I've  left  my  glass  on  the  green, 

green  grass 
All  by  the  burnie's  side. 

"  So  though  I  look  north  and  though 

I  look  south, 

And  though  I  look  straight  before, 
I  see  nothing  at  all  on  the  toll-house 

wall 
Nor  yet  on  the  toll-house  door." 

"  Now  shame  !  now  shame  !  my  mer- 
rymen  both, 

For  see  ye  not  written  here 
These  words  that  tell  of  cakes  to  sell, 

And  eke  of  the  small,  small  beer? 


360  A  MERRY  BALLAD. 

"  '  I  have  never  a  penny  left  in  my 
purse — 

Never  a  penny  but  three, 
And  one  is  brass  and  another  is  lead, 

And  another  is  white  mon6y.' 

"  But  haud  out  your  pouches  o'  gude 

green  silk, 

Or  the  skin  of  the  red  deer  fleet, 
And  we'se  tak'  a  draught  of  the  wee 

sma'  beer 
And  a  bite  of  the  seed-cake  sweet." 

He  hadna  rapped  a  rap,  a  rap, — 

A  rap  but  only  three, 
When  out  and  came  the  toll-house 
dame, 

Was  a  grisly  wight  to  see. 

Her  cheek  was  yellow,  her  throat  was 
lean, 

Her  eyes  "  baith  blear  and  blin'  "  : 
No  Soph  hath  half  the  beard,  I  ween, 

That  flourished  on  her  chin. 

"  A  boon  !  A  boon  !  thou  toll-woman, 
A  boon  thou'se  give  to  me, 


A  MERRY  BALLAD.  361 

For  a  thirstier  soul  than  I  am  one 
Lives  not  in  Christiant£. 

"  I've  swallowed  the  sassafras  in  the 

wood 

And  the  dust  on  the  king's  high- 
way 
And  the  sorrel  that  grows  on  the 

sandy  bank, 
Till  my  throat  is  as  dry  as  hay." 

"  0  seek  ye  of  the  red,  red  wine, 

Or  seek  ye  of  the  white, 
To  moisten  your  dainty  clay  withal, 

And  your  whistles  both  shrill  and 
slight  ?  " 

"  We  seek  not  of  the  red,  red  wine — 
We  seek  not  of  the  white : 

We  seek  but  a  draught  of  the  small, 

small  beer, 
Of  the  seed-cake  only  a  bite." 

"  Then  show  me  the  red,  red  gold," 

quo'  she, 
"  And  show  me  the  silver  fine, 


362  A  MERRY  BALLAD. 

And   show  me  a  roll  of  the  green, 

green  back, 
Or  you'se  get  no  beer  of  mine." 

Then  up  and  spake  the  first  merry- 
man, — 

By  several  saints  he  swore ; — 
"  I  have  but  an  Index-check l  in  my 

pouch, 
And  the  devil  a  penny  more." 

Then  up  and  spake  the  next  merry- 
man — 

"  And  I've  but  a  soda-ticket, 
And   a    crumpled    two-cent  revenue 

stamp 
With  no  gum-stickum  to  stick  it." 

"  Aroint ! — Aroint !  ye  beggarly  loons, 
From  under  my  threshold  tree  ! 

1  Entitling  the  holder  to  one  Index  to  the 
Yale  Literary  Magazine,  prepared  by  "  the 
busy  L.  H.  B."  These  checks  were  thrown 
on  the  market  in  great  numbers,  and  rap- 
idly depreciated,  causing  a  panic  in  the 
class  only  equalled  by  the  similar  distress 
produced  by  the  famous  tk  Finley  Issue  "  in 
the  class  of  '66. 


A  MERRY  BALLAD.  363 

What  good  to  me  is  a  revenue  stamp 
Or  an  Index-check  perdy?  " 

"  A  soda  ticket  ?    A  soda  fiddle- 
Stick  1    Pesky  belly-wash  ! 
Them  folks  as  like  it  may  swill  sich 

fizz, 

In  their  stomachs  to  rumble  and 
swash  : 

"  But  as  for  me,  I'll  stick  to  my  cider, 
And  eke  to  the  small,  small  beer, 

And  sell  it  to  them  as  have  money  to 

pay; 
But  you — get  out  o*  here  ! " 

Then  beerless  to  the  dusty  road 
Turned  each  bold  Sophomore, 

While  with  a  slam  behind  him  closed 
The  heavy  toll-house  door. 


A  FISH  STORY. 

WHALE  of  great  porosity, 
And  small  specific  gravity, 
Dived     down    with    much 

velocity 
Beneath  the  sea's  concavity. 

But  soon  the  weight  of  water 
Squeezed  in  his  fat  immensity, 

Which  varied — as  it  ought  to — 
Inversely  as  his  density. 

It  would  have  moved  to  pity 

An  Ogre  or  a  Hessian, 
To  see  poor  Spermaceti 

Thus  suffering  compression. 

The  while  he  lay  a-roaring 

In  agonies  gigantic, 
The  lamp-oil  out  came  pouring 

And  greased  the  wide  Atlantic. 
364 


A  FISH  STORY,  365 

(Would  we'd  been  in  the  Navy, 
And  cruising  there  !     Imagine  us 

All  in  a  sea  of  gravy, 
With  billow  oleaginous !) 

At  length  old  million-pounder, 

Low  on  a  bed  of  coral, 
Gave  his  last  dying  flounder, 

Whereto  I  pen  this  moral. 

MORAL. 

O  let  this  tale  dramatic 

Anent  this  whale  Norwegian, 

And  pressures  hydrostatic 
Warn  you,  my  young  collegian, 

That  down-compelling  forces 
Increase  as  you  get  deeper ; 

The  lower  down  your  course  is, 
The  upward  path  's  the  steeper. 


IN  LATIN  PROSE  RECITA- 
TION. 

LOVE  the  tongue  of  Cicero 
In  moderate  quantities,  you 

know; 

But  listening  for  an  hour 
or  more 

To  Latin  prosings  is  a  bore. 
When  Pinguis  rises  to  recite — 
O  Erebus  and  Ancient  Night ! 
Chaos  is  come  again :  Old  Sleep 
Along  the  benches  'gins  to  creep. 
What  shall  I  do  while  Pinguis  stands 
And  tells  of  Balbus'  lifted  hands,* 
Of  Titus  Manlius,  noble  youth, 
And  that  G.  Washington  of  truth, 
Caius,  who  ribbed  not  even  in  jest 
(Ne  joco  quidem),  and  the  rest? 
What  shall  I  do  to  pass  the  time? 
Try  my  hand  at  making  rhyme? 

*  Ego  et  Balbus  sustultmus  manus. 

Arnold's  Latin  Prose  Composition. 
366 


LA  TIN  PROSE  RECITA  TION.    367 

This    text-book's    fly-leaves,    smooth 

and  white, 

My  pencil's  sharpened  point  invite. 
Help,   Muse,   thou   whose   Maeonian 

brook 

Meanders  through  the  Balbus  book: 
Thou  who  with  pure  mnemonic  fire 
That  noble  quatrain  did'st  inspire ; 
"  By  ut  translate  infinitive 
With     ask,     command,     advise     and 

strive ; 

But  NEVER  be  this  rule  forgot— 
Put  ne  for  ut  when  there's  a  not." 
Goddess,  thou  knows't  I  can't  com- 
pose— 

Not  worth  a  rap — in  Latin  Prose. 
The  exercises  that  I  do 
On  the  black-board  get  minus  2. 
I  saw  the  tutor,  with  a  frown, 
In  his  small  book  put  this  mark  (x) 

down. 

So  then — here  goes  in  English  verse : 
It  may  be  bad — it  can't  be  worse. 


LOST  LETTERS  OF  THE 
GREEK  ALPHABET. 

IM  is  my  damp  eye 
For  thee,  O  Sampi : 
Lo  !  here  I  drop  a 

Tear  for  Koppa ; 

Gone,  too,  art  thou, 

Departed  Vau ; 

(Ah !  letter  sweet, 

Now  obsolete.) 

Ye-one-two-threc 

All  vanished  be, 

Swallowed   by  Time's  much-gulping 
sea. 

F. 

But  thou,  Digamma — 
Chiefly  for  thee 
We  wail  and  clamour 
In  threnody. 

368 


LOST  LETTERS. 

Old  Hell,  thy  gammer, 

Swallowed  thee  whole ; 

Yet  still  thy  soul 

Doth  haunt  this  grammar— 

A  ghostly  V 

For  whom  Prof.  Hadley 

Moaneth  madly 

And  in  each  dark  hiatus  sadly 

Listens  for  thee— 

Ever  for  thee. 


A  HOLIDAY  ECLOGUE. 

ABOVE. 

First  Mason: 
INK-A-LINK !  Tink-a-link ! 

Hear  the  trowels  ring ; 
Feel  the  merry  breezes  make 

the  scaffold  swing ; 
See  the  skimming  swallow  brush  us 

with  her  wing : — 

Go  it  with  your  hammers,  boys;  time 
us  while  we  sing. 

BELOW. 

First  Student: 
See  the  yellow  sparkle  of  the  Neckar 

in  the  glass, 
And  through   the  cedar  branches 

sparkles  blue  the  sea; 
Hear  the  sweet  piano — hear  the  Ger- 
man lass 

Sing  Freut*  euch    des  Lebens—Q 
"  I  love,  I  love  the  free  ! " 

370 


A  HOLIDAY  ECLOGUE.  371 

Second  Student: 

I  like  the  canary  better  ; 

Look,  how  he  swells  his  throttle ! 
He  gurgles  like  musical  water 

That  dances  and  sings  in  a  bottle. 

ABOVE. 
Second  Mason  ; 

D'ye  mind  the  students  down  in  the 

grove 

Drinking  their  wine  and  beer? 
That's  an  easy  life  they  lead. 

First  Mason  : 

So  do  we  up  here 

When  the  weathercock  points  west 
And  the  look-offs  clear. 

Third  Mason  : 
House-top  Jim  's  the  boy  for  work ! 

First  Mason : 

True  for  you,  my  dear. 

( Whistles  "  The  Girl  I  Left  behind 


372          A  HOL1DA  Y  ECLOGUE. 
BELOW. 

First  Student: 

See  the  Dutchmen  on  those  settees  : 

Isn't  it  like  the  Rhine  ? 
And  the  old  church-tower  up   over 
the  trees — 

Kellner  !  Nock  ein  Stein  / 

Third  Student  : 

I'd  like  to  work  with  those  masons 

there 

Half  way  up  the  sky. 
The  air  is  sweet  where  the  pigeons 

build, 
And  the  world  is  all  in  their  eye. 

Second  Student  : 

But  "  Love  is  of  the  valley  ":  the  Gret- 

chen  and  the  Kellner 
Haunt  the  cheerful   levels   of  the 

lower  story. 
Glory  in  the  garret— comfort  in  the 

cellar : 

I  will  keep  the  comfort— you  may 
take  the  glory. 


A  HOLIDAY  ECLOGUE.  373 

ABOVE. 

First  Mason  : 
Look  up    at    the    pointers :    they're 

drawing  close  together ; 
'Tis  here  we  get  the  earliest  news  of 

sun  and  moon  and  weather  ; 
We  can  hear  Time's  pulse  a-ticking 

with  the  whistling  weathercock. 
Drop  your  mortar-boards,  my  lads, 

it's  coming  twelve  o'clock. 

Third  Mason  : 

O  it's  hungry  that  I  am  with  work- 
ing in  the  wind, 

But  there's   a  shawl    and   bonnet — 
below  there  :  do  you  mind  ? 

It's  Molly  with  the  dinner-pail :  she's 
coming  in  the  door. 

Faith,  my  belly  thinks  my  throat  is  cut 

this  half  an  hour  and  more. 
(The  church  clock  strikes  the  noon.) 


A  MEMORY. 

CAME  across  the  marsh  to- 
night, 
And  though  the  wind  was 

cold, 

I  stayed  a  moment  on  the  bridge 
To  note  the  paly  gold 

That  lingered  on  the  darkening  bay ; 

The  creek  which  ran  below 
Was  frozen  dumb  ;  the  dreary  flats 

Were  overspread  with  snow. 

The  college  bell  began  to  ring, 
And  as  the  north  wind  blew 

Its  distant  janglings  out  to  sea, 
I  thought,  dear  Friend,  of  you  ; 

And  how  one  warm  September  day, 
While  yet  the  woods  were  green, 

We  strayed  across  the  happy  hills 
And  this  wide  marsh  between. 

374 


A  MEMORY.  375 

The  hay-stacks  dotted  here  and  there 
The  water-meadows  wide  : 

The  even  lines  of  sluices  black 
Were  filling  with  the  tide. 

Then  this  salt  stream,  now  winter- 
bound, 

Fled  softly  through  the  sedge, 
Retreating  from  the  sparkling  Sound  ; 

And  there  along  its  edge 

We  strolled,  and  marked  the  far-off 

sloops, 

And  watched  the  cattle  graze. 
O'erhead    the    swallows    rushed    in 

troops, 
While,  bright  with  purple  haze, 

West  Rock  looked  down  the  winding 

plain — 

Ah  !  this  was  long  ago  ; 
The  summer  's  gone,  and  you  are 

gone, 
As  everything  must  go. 


AD  IULUM  ANTONIUM. 

HORACE'S   ODES  :    LIBER  iv.    CAR- 
MEN n. 

j]ONY,  for  me  to  write  an  ode, 
And  spout  it  from  a  staging 
Would  be  to  trust  in  waxen 

wings,1 

Or,  when  the  winds  are  raging, 
To  pull  outside  the  Light-house  Point 

In  Charlie's  paper  wherry 
(Six  inches  and  a  half  across)  ; 
'Twould  be  imprudent— very  ! 

"  Weak-winged  is  song."    Why  don't 
you  get 

Some  muse  with  pinions  tougher? — 
Some  epic  dominie  or  some 

Didactic-blank-verse  buffer, 
Complacent,  fat,  in  white  cravat, 

Who,  in  mid-climax  soaring, 
Will  pause  to  hear  his  audience  cheer 

And  kick  upon  the  flooring  ? 

»  "  Ceratis  ope  Daedalea 
Nititur  pennis." 

376 


A  D  IUL  UM  A  N  TON1UM.          377 

Get  some  prize-poet  who  can  write 

A  dozen  different  metres. 
There's     Finch;    there's     Duffield— 
Hollister 

Who  does  our  best  Phi  Betas  ; 
There's  Edward  Sill— he  slings  a  quill 

(Perhaps  you  think  that  stylus 
Would    sound    more    classical    than 
quill ;) 

There's  Rev.  Crescentius  Nilus — 

That   swelling   Nile1   whose    annual 
flood 

The  "  Courant  "  always  mentions, 
Enriching  drear  alumni  feeds 

And  Delta  Phi  conventions. 
I  name  a  laureate  here  and  there  ; 

You'll  doubtless  think  of  others. 
Who  did  the  anniversary 

(No  joke  on  verse}  at  Brothers  ? 

These  swans  *  of  song  I  often  see 
Early  some  autumn  morning 

Fly  over  in  the  frosty  sky  ; 

Faint  sounds  their  leader's  warning. 

1  "Monte  decurrens  velut  amnis,  imbres 

Quern  super  notas  aluere  ripas." 
a  "  Multa  Dircaeum  levat  aura  cycnum." 


378         AD  IULUM  AN TONIUM. 

Southward  they  seek  the  Chesapeake, 
To  winter  homes  returning, 

Above  the  maple-forests  red 

And  brushwood  swamps  a-burning. 

Bui  I,  a  bee  l  that  shuns  the  wind, 

By  East  Rock's  sheltered  bases 
Crawl  into  spurs  of  columbines 

In  warm  and  sunny  places, 
Humming  in  slender,  earthy  strain 

Of  little  cells  I'm  building 
At  home,  and  how  my  jacket  brown 

Has  one  small  stripe  of  gilding. 

Perchance  on  some  Red  Letter  night 

When  snow  was  softly  heaping 
Outside  upon  the  window-sill, 

And,  o'er  our  senses  creeping, 
The  sleepy  malt,  the  grate-fire's  glow 

That  tinged  our  pipe  smoke  rosy 
As  evening  clouds,  had  made  us  feel 

Particularly  cosy  ; 

I've  taken  from  my  pocket's  depths 
A  torn  and  crumpled  paper 

1  "Ego  apis  Matinae,"  etc. 


A D  JUL  UM  A NTONIUM.  379 

Whereon    were    traced     some    idle 
rhymes, 

An  idler  brain's  light  vapor ; 
And  if  to  these  the  Letters  Red 

Listened  with  kind  indulgence, ' 
We'll  lay  it  to  that  genial  malt 

And  fire-light's  soft  effulgence. 

But  when  in  gilt-edged  album-book 

I'm  asked  to  write  a  sonnet, 
I  sadly  shake  my  head  and  say 

"  Dear  Miss,  I  am  not  on  it." 
And  when   Dick  reads  me   his  new 
pome 

In  twenty  cantos,  then  ah  I 
My  little  chirping  muse  descries 

How  tcnuis  is  \xxpenna. 
*  •'  Si  quid  loquar  audiendum,"  etc. 


PRESENTATION  DAY,  1868. 

HEIR  songs  are  done,  their 

forms  are  gone, 
And  Time  for  us  hath  turned 

the  glass : 
We  heed  not,  as  we  take  their  seats, 
How  downward  swift  the  red  sands 
pass. 

We  heed  not  how  the  cloud  comes  on 

That  shadows  all  the  sunny  land — 

The  day  when  heart  from  heart  must 

part 

And    clinging    hand    unlink    from 
hand. 

What  shall  that  Dies  Iras  give 
In  place  of  that  it  takes  away  : 

How  fill  the  time  we  have  to  live 
While  youth  treads  downward  to 
decay  ? 

Good-by,  true  friend  ;  good-by,  old 

Yale; 

Good-by,  each  dear  familiar  spot ; 

Good-by,  sweet  season  of  our  youth — 

44  The  golden,  happy,  unforgot." 

380 


IVY  ODE. 

CLASS  DAY,    1869. 

JHEN  we  are  gone  from  sight 

and  mind, 
Leaving  no  token  here  be- 

hind 

To  speak  for  us  in  this  loved  scene, 
O,  Ivy,  keep  our  memory  green, 
And  trace  in  thy  soft,  leafy  line, 
The  dear  old  name  of  Sixty-nine. 

When  youth  and  Yale  are  far  away, 
And  these  young  heads  are  growing 


We'll  think,  ho  won  this  cold  stonewall 
Our  Ivy  climbeth  strong  and  tall  ; 
And  then  our  hearts,  like  thee,  shall 

grow 
The  greener  for  the  winter  snow. 

Farewell  !  Farewell  !  A  leaf  from  thee 
In  after  years  a  charm  shall  be 
To  start  the  tear  in  eyes  long  dry  ; 
To  stir  the  drowsy  memory 
With  sad,  sweet  thoughts  of  Auld 

Lan$r  Syne. 

And  friends  we  loved  in  Sixty-  nine. 
381 


THE  NEW  YALE.     1871. 

j  LL  clay  we  hear  the  chisels 

ring, 

The  windlass  creak,  the  ma- 
sons sing ; 
With  every  brightening  moon  there 

falls 

A  longer  shadow  from  the  walls. 
We  hope  these  rising  halls  may  bring 
Some    new   event — some  wished-for 

thing. 

We  look  to  see  that  not  alone 
Of  mellow  brick-work  or  of  stone, 
But  reared  by  wisdom's  magic  wands 
Invisible,  not  made  with  hands, 
Yet  stronger  than  the  trowel  builds, 
Deep-laid  by  toiling  scholar-guilds, 
Her  corner-stone's  free-masonry 
As  broad  as  this  brave  century, 
Our  new,  regenerate  Yale  shall  be — 
Our  Yankee  university. 
O  let  her  widened  portals  stand 
All  opening  on  the  future's  land  ; 
Her  pointed  windows  one  by  one 
382 


THE  NEW  YALE.  383 

Steal  color  from  the  setting  sun  ; 
Her  gables  and  her  belfries  high, 
Her  generous  chimney-stacks  whereby 
The  college  doves  shall  build  and  fly, 
Front  only  toward  the  western  sky  ; 
And  far  above  her  tall  elm  trees 
The  bright  vanes  point  the  western 

breeze ! 
We  care  not  that  the  dawn  should 

throw 

Its  gilding  on  our  portico  ; 
But  rather  that  our  natal  star, 
Bright  Hesper,  in  the  twilight  far 
Should  beckon   toward  the  imperial 

West 

Which  he,  our  Berkeley,  loved  the  best; 
Whereto,  his  mighty  line  doth  say, 
"  The  course  of  empire  takes  its  way." 
For  in  the  groves  of  that  young  land 
A  lordly  school  his  wisdom  planned 
To  teach  new  knowledge  to  new  men, 
Fresh  sciences  undreamed  of  then. 
She  comes — had  come  unknown  be- 
fore, 
Though  not  on  "  vext  Bermoothe's  " 

shore. 

Yet  will  she  not  her  prophet  fail — 
The  new — the  old — the  same  dear  Yale. 


TRIENNIAL  POME. 

1872. 

|  HE      other      evening, — just 

when  tea  is  o'er 
And  ambulances  crowd  the 

Commons  door — 
When  the  heat  gets  a  trifle  less  in- 
tense 
And  singing  sounds  the  nicest  on  the 

fence — 
At   shirt-sleeve  time  when  the  first 

pipe  is  lit 
And   cheerful   June-bugs   round   the 

ceiling  flit, 
I  sat  with  palm-leaf  fan  and  slippered 

feet 

"  Enlumining  with  rhethoricke  swete  " 
(That's  Chaucer)  a  small  portion  of 

the  gloom 

That  broods  within  my  grim  tutorial 
room. 

384 


TRIENNIAL  POME.  385 

(I  always  cram  my  lessons  up  ahead 

Because,  by  spirit  of  enquiry  led, 

With  wily  question  Freshmen  some- 
times stick 

Their  Tutor  in  Eng.  Lit.  and  Rhet- 
orick). 

Thus  sitting,  wrapped  in  Rhetorick 
and  smoke, 

I  heard  somebody  tapping  at  my  oak. 

Thought  I  unto  myself :  "  Now  who 
the  deuce  is 

That  at  my  door? — Some  Freshman 
wants  excuses, 

And  yet,  methinks,  that  is  no  Fresh- 
man tap ; 

There's  something  bold  tho'  friendly 
in  that  rap : 

Such  echoes  waken  in  these  ears  of 
mine 

The  wooden  knuckles  of  old  Sixty- 
Nine. 

"  Come  in,"  I  said :  slow  swung  the 
ponderous  door 

And  PHLANDER  stood  before  me 
on  the  floor. 

Stern  was  his  brow  and  serious  as  of 
yore 


386  TRIENNIAL  POME. 

But  somewhat  bushier  were  the  sides 

he  wore. 

Divinity  sat  throned  within  his  eye — 
New  Haven  Orthodox  Divinity; 
Not    such    as    holdeth    sway    where 

MANUS  stands 
Swinging  the  censor  in  his  jewelled 

hands, 
Or   sings   anthiphonals   with   solemn 

chant, 

Snuffing  the  candles  of  the  covenant. 
He  seemed  an  angel  sent  to  summon 

me 
To  some  high  mission — or,  perhaps, 

to  tea. 
"  Fear  not,"   he   said, — "  fear  not,   I 

am  not  come 

To  dun  you  for  our  Megatherium;* 
The  money  that  your  Secretary  begs 
To  buy  that  aged  reptile's  ribs  and 

legs 
Is  scarce  enough  as  yet  to   furnish 

plast- 

*  New  Haven,  Conn.,  May  27,  1873^ 
Rec'd  of  Edward  Heaton  the  sum  of  Five  Hun- 
dred &  Sixty-two  dollars  &  forty  cents,  amount  of 
Megatherium  Fund  of  class  of  1869,  deposited  at 
the  Townsend  Savings  Bank. 

(Signed)        O.  C.  Marsh. 


TRIENNIAL  POME.  387 

Er  for  that  monstrum  horrendum  in- 

forme's  cast; 
Yet  some  remote  posterity  may  see 

'em 
Ranged  proudly  in  the  Peabody  Mu- 


"  It  is  not  for  the  fossil  that  I  call," 
Said  Phlander,  "but  for  the  Trien- 
nial. 
We're  getting  very  near  to  the  Class 

Supper : 
There's  no  Class  Cup — in  fact  there's 

no  class  cupper. 

The  unfilial  babe  declineth  to  appear, 
Thus  bringing  down  in  sorrow  to  his 

beer 
His  father's  hundred  and  fifteen  grey 

heads. 
What's  to  be  done  ?— There'll  be  the 

toasts  and  spreads, 
But  then  we  want  some  kind  of  fluff 

or  foam, 
And  so — and  so — you've  got  to  do  a 

pome." 
"Phlander,"   said   I,   "The  class  of 

Sixty-Nine 
Is  a  sensible  class:  we  love  our  beer 

and  wine, 


388  TRIENNIAL  POME. 

We  like  our  smear,  our  smoke,  our 

jolly  chorus, 
But  pomes  and  speeches  and  all  that 

sort  bore  us. 

Don't  I  remember  once  in  Delta  Phi 
When  Texican  and  Beverly  and  I 
Tried  to  get  up  some  littry  exercises? 
The  chairman  raps,  the  essayist  arises 
With    bulky     manuscript    and    neat 

cravat, 
When   suddenly   loud   cries  of   '  Fat 

up!  Fat!* 
Why  don't  you  fat  up  on  the  Jimmy's 

trick?' 
1  Hold  your  yawp,   Cammy ! '   '  Who 

dug  you  up  ?  '  &c. 
Within    his    frame    lamented    Eelsj 

grows  red 

And  frescoed  Clio  hangs  her  blush- 
ing head. 
Besides,  my  Phlander,  now  you  talk 

of  fluff, 
The   last   three   years   I've   dealt   in 

sterner  stuff. 
Indeed     I've     ceased    to    build    the 

mighty  line 

*  To  load  a  partner's  trick  with  valuable  cards, 
t  Legendary  founder  of  A.  A.  *. 


TRIENNIAL  POME.  389 

And  woo  the  unwilling  muse  since 
Sixty-Nine. 

Yet  Phlander,"  said  I,  "were  there 
one  whose  fires 

The  bull-dog  kindles  and  John  Roach 
inspires; 

Well  skilled  in  swift  velocipedic  race 

Or  rhyming  dictionary's  page  to 
trace ; 

He  were  the  bard  to  do  Triennial 
pomes 

And  rag  therein  J.  Saxe  and  Dr. 
Holmes. 

Alas !  no  bull-dog  licks  his  ligneous 
hands, 

He  roams  in  rude  and  licoriceless 
lands 

Where  never  yet  Four  Years  at  Yale 
hath  shed 

Its  rays,  and  e'en  the  Index  is  un- 
read." 

To  us  at  Alma  Mater's  apron- 
string 

Not  much  of  change  the  quiet  sea- 
sons bring. 

The  elm-leaf  buds  and  spreads  and 
yellowing  falls, 

New  ivies  stretch  their  green 
threads  up  the  walls; 


390  TRIENNIAL  POME. 

But    now    and    then    we    hear    how 

Tom  has  sped, 
That    Dick    is    married    and    that 

Harry's  dead, 
That   Jack    is    raising    cane    on    the 

Equator 
And  Bob  is  running  for  the  "  Legis- 

latur." 

Our  academic  cobwebs  gather  dust, 
Perhaps  our  minds  contract  a  little 

rust, 
And  we  home-keepers  hardly  notice 

how 
The      wrinkles      thicken      in      our 

Mother's  brow. 
Now    when    we    shake    your    hands 

upon  the  fence 
To  me,  at  least,  there  comes  as  yet 

no  sense 
Of    change;    once    more,    as    in    the 

bright  September  weather. 
Some    long    vacation's    close    brings 

us   together. 
But  you  who've  wandered  doubtless 

find  the  trace 

Of  alteration  in  our  Mother's  face. 
All  change  is  sad — yes,  sad  is  even 

growth ; 


TRIENNIAL  POME.  39! 

It   steals   away    some   portion    from 

our  youth. 
The    college    pump's    not    where    it 

used  to  be, 
You  can't  get  used  to  Farnam  and 

Durfee; 
Old    land-marks    fail :    just    in    the 

college  close 

Where  Boreal  Joseph's  modest  man- 
sion rose — 
Where,  when  the  meteoric  fireworks 

came, 
Their    light    was    dimmed    by    less 

celestial  flame, 
There    now   a   desert   of    wild   oats 

doth  spread. 

Our  ivy,  too,  can  hardly  yet  be  said 
To    clothe    the    wall :    when    last    I 

chanced  to  pass 
One  bright  green  leaf  looked  bravely 

through  the  grass. 
Ah    well !    these    younger    years    so 

lightly  fly 
We  scarcely  hear  their  wings;  but 

by  and  by 
More    precious    and    more    precious 

still  shall  be 


392  TRIENNIAL  POME. 

These  meetings— rests  and  breath- 
ing-spots where  we 

May  pause,  as  up  these  stony  hills 
of  time 

Whose  summits  pave  eternity,  we 
climb 

And  turn  our  eyes  from  mists  and 
clouds  and  snow 

Back  to  Youth's  valley  lying  fair  be- 
low, 

Forever  there  the  tender  light  of 
dawn, 

Striped  with  long  shadows,  trem- 
bles on  the  lawn; 

The  sky  forever  breezy,  far  and 
blue, 

The  green  woods  freshened  with 
perennial  dew, 

The  meadow-lark's  brief,  sweetly- 
whistled  tune 

Fills  the  deep  valley  with  the  voice 
of  June. 


NUNC  DIMITTIS. 

IGHLANDS  of  Navesink, 
By  the  blue  ocean's  brink, 
Let  your  gray  bases  drink 

Deep  of  the  sea. 
Tide  that  comes  flooding  up, 
Fill  me  a  stirrup  cup, 
Pledge  me  a  parting  sup, 
Now  I  go  free. 

Wall  of  the  Palisades, 

I  know  where  greener  glades, 

Deeper  glens,  darker  shades, 

Hemlock  and  pine, 
Far  toward  the  morning  lie 
Under  a  bluer  sky, 
Lifted  by  cliffs  as  high, 

Haunts  that  are  mine. 

Marshes  of  Hackensack, 
See,  I  am  going  back 
Where  the  Quinnipiac 
Winds  to  the  bay, 


394  NUNC  DIMITT1S. 

Down  its  long  meadow  track, 
Piled  with  the  myriad  stack, 
Where  in  wide  bivouac 
Camps  the  salt  hay. 

Spire  of  old  Trinity, 
Never  again  to  be 
Sea-mark  and  goal  to  me 

As  I  walk  down; 
Chimes  on  the  upper  air, 
Calling  in  vain  to  prayer, 
Squandering  your  music  where 

Roars  the  black  town: 

Bless  me  once  ere  I  ride 
Off  to  God's  countryside, 
Where  in  the  treetops  hide 

Belfry  and  bell; 
Tongue  of  the  steeple  towers, 
Telling  the  slow-paced  hours — 
Hail,  thou  still  town  of  ours — 

Bedlam,  farewell! 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
BERKELEY 

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expiration  of  loan  period. 


JAN 


1925 


APR  1  8  1981 


852701 


